Anthony felt a flare of satisfaction at her shrewd words. He had sensed there was a swift intelligence behind those pretty features. Obviously he had not been mistaken.”
“For all your frivolous manner you are very perceptive, my dear.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Not at all.” He locked her gaze with his own. “As I have said, I believe that you like to disguise your true self.”
She abruptly turned her head, clearly uneasy at the thought that she had revealed more than she had intended. Anthony studied her delicate profile as they crossed a small bridge and entered the fringe of trees that marked the end of Carlfield property. Miss Cresswell was clearly determined to keep a part of herself hidden from the world. He could only wonder what she feared to expose.
He chose a narrow path that forced her to walk closely at his side. The scent of her warm, rose-perfumed skin wrapped about him and he resisted the urge to bring her to a halt and pull her into his arms. It was no doubt precisely what she expected from any gentleman who had managed to lure her into a secluded spot. But he was quite determined to keep her off guard. Miss Cresswell would not be allowed to make him a slave of his own desires. He would be the one in control of their enticing flirtation.
A pity, he inwardly sighed. He was eager to explore that smoldering passion which shimmered about her like a cloak of temptation. Far, far more eager than he had anticipated.
A flame licked through his body. It was a fortunate thing that life had taught him the worth of self-control. He had an uneasy premonition that Miss Cresswell was bound to test his vaunted composure to the very limit.
“What was that?” Miss Cresswell broke into his thoughts.
“What?”
“I saw a flash of something over there.”
Without warning the impulsive maiden abandoned his side and plunged through the underbrush without regard to her elegant dress. Momentarily caught off guard, Anthony watched her disappearing through the trees, then with a sudden chuckle he was in swift pursuit.
At least one was never bored when in the company of Miss Cresswell.
Wincing at the scrape of dead branches against the gloss of his Hessians, he swiftly closed the distance, coming up beside her as she halted next to an iron gate set in a stone fence. He glanced about, noting the air of neglect that was settled about the remote property.
“Miss Cresswell, you are not attempting to lure me to a secluded location so that you can t—take advantage of me, are you?” he softly teased.
“Certainly not,” she denied pertly.
He heaved a mournful sigh. “A pity.”
Reaching out, she pushed at the gate, giving an impatient click of her tongue to find it locked.
“Drat.”
“It appears that visitors are not welcome,” he murmured, a frown marring his brow as Miss Cresswell promptly reached through the bars to push at the heavy latch. “What the devil are you doing?”
“I want to discover what is being hidden.”
He was momentarily taken aback by her strange audacity, then realization struck. “This property belongs to the Broswells’, does it not?”
“Precisely.” She flashed him a knowing glance.
“You do realize it is highly improper to trespass in such a fashion?” he said dryly.
“Of course.” She gave a shrug. “You needn’t come with me. I am accustomed to doing the scandalous, but I would not wish to stain your very proper reputation.”
He stepped closer, trapping her between the gate and his much larger form.
“Are you attempting to insult me, Miss Cresswell?”
She flashed him an impish grin. “Forgive me. I truly have no desire to embroil you in my evil deeds.”
“No one is allowed to embroil me in anything I do not wish to be embroiled in, Miss Cresswell.”
“That sounds remarkably like a challenge, Mr. Clarke.”
He shrugged. “It is simply the truth.”
The long black lashes fluttered in a provocative fashion. “You know, I do not believe I have ever encountered another gentleman precisely like you.”
“W—why do you say that?”
“Many reasons.” With a bold motion she reached up to pluck a small twig from his coat. “One of which is the fact that you have never once attempted to kiss me.”
A heady flare of desire rushed through him. Gads, but he could press her against the gate and take her then and there, if he had been allowed to. She surely had bewitched him. A gentleman could easily be forgiven for losing all sense when faced with such temptation.
“Did you wish me to kiss you, my dear?” he murmured.
“It is a rather predictable occupation of gentlemen.”
“I should never wish to be considered predictable.”
A hint of frustration darkened her eyes before she abruptly turned back to the gate.
“Then shall we go?”
“By all means.” Anthony smiled at her peevish reaction to his elusive game. She was unaccustomed to having her blatant invitations turned aside. With a deliberate motion he moved until he was nearly pressed against her, reaching through the bars to grasp the inner latch. At the same moment he angled his head downward, trailing his lips over the fragrant scent of her bare nape.
“Oh,” Miss Cresswell gasped, a sudden shiver shaking her body. “Mr. Clarke.”
“Yes, Miss Cresswell?” he whispered as he continued to explore the tantalizing curve of her neck.
“What are you doing?”
The faint quiver in her voice only further inflamed his smoldering desire. He wanted this woman to want him. Not as a conquest or a sop to her female pride. But as a woman in full thrall of her own passions.
“I am attempting to discover if your skin is as satin-soft as it appears.”
Her hands grasped the bars as if her knees were threatening to give sway.
“And is it?”
“Oh yes. And it has the most delicious aroma of roses.” His arms ached to wrap about her and tug her close to the hardness of his frame. Instead he forced himself to give a sharp pull on the iron latch. “There.”
“What?”
“The gate is now open.”
“Yes.”
With a satisfying lack of grace she stumbled through the opening, clearly anxious to put some distance between them. Anthony followed behind at a more leisurely pace, content for the moment with the knowledge that he had managed to ruffle her practiced air of sophistication. Beneath all that flirtatious manner was an unmistakable innocence, he acknowledged with a smile. Her passions were as untested as those of a schoolgirl.
They moved down an overgrown path, until Miss Cresswell abruptly pointed toward an ivy-covered structure.
“Over there. It looks to be a house.”
Anthony briefly studied the square unadorned building. “At a glance I would guess it to be an old dowager house.”
“Surely it is empty?”
Anthony cast a glance upward. “There is smoke coming from the chimney.”
He intended to convince her that they had intruded far enough. After all, whoever was within the house had gone to considerable lengths to keep out visitors. But with the impulsiveness he was beginning to rue, she was determinedly moving forward.
She rang the bell, then when there was no reply she overcame the barrier to her goal by the swift process of shoving the door open.
Anthony watched in disbelief as Miss Cresswell calmly moved into the cramped foyer and down the dark hall.
“Hello,” she called in bright tones.
With a shake of his head Anthony followed behind, thoroughly expecting to discover a furious farmer armed with a gun.
“Miss Cresswell, you do realize that you are trespassing in a private home?”
“Yes.” She came to a halt. “I heard something.” With that disconcerting swiftness she was charging down the hall and through an open doorway. Anthony heard her voice float through the air as he was once agai
n in pursuit. “Oh, hello there.”
Relieved there was no immediate echo of a gunshot, Anthony entered the room, startled to a halt at the sight of the young maiden settled beside the window in a bath chair.
His narrowed gaze swept over the pale features and too-frail frame. Her blond hair was pulled into a stern bun that only emphasized her hollow cheeks, and her faded gown was clearly too large for her thin body. But there was a clear, restless intelligence in the blue eyes.
“Who are you?” the girl, whom Anthony guessed to be sixteen or seventeen, demanded.
“I am Miss Cresswell and this is Mr. Clarke. Who are you?”
The girl briefly glanced toward the doorway, as if expecting someone to suddenly materialize.
“You should not be here.”
Undaunted, Miss Cresswell smiled in a friendly fashion. “We were passing by and I saw something flashing through the trees. I wanted to ensure there was nothing amiss.”
“Nothing is amiss.”
Anthony stepped closer, noting the object she was attempting to hide in the folds of her skirt.
“Perhaps it was the sun reflecting off your telescope?”
The girl bit her lip. “You should not be here.”
“Will you at least tell us your name?” Miss Cresswell asked in gentle tones.
There was a faint pause before the girl turned the wheeled chair better to see them.
“Are you staying at Broswell Park?”
“No, we are guests of Mr. Carlfield,” Miss Cresswell explained. “His daughter is becoming engaged to Mr. Wingrove at the end of the month.”
Without warning the girl’s delicate features hardened. “I don’t like him.”
Intrigued by the curious maiden living in this seemingly abandoned home, Anthony squatted down to meet her gaze squarely.
“Do you know Mr. Wingrove?”
“No, but he hits his dog with a whip. I don’t think a kind man would do that, do you?”
“I certainly do not,” Anthony agreed, inwardly deciding to do a bit of investigating in regards to Mr. Wingrove.
The thin face abruptly cleared. “Miss Carlfield looks nice though. She sings when she walks.”
Anthony felt a twinge in his heart. Obviously the girl’s only connection to the world was through her telescope. He knew better than anyone the heavy loneliness of being secluded from the world.
“She is very, very nice,” he agreed with a coaxing smile. “Are you here alone?”
The girl abruptly grimaced. “No, Mrs. Greene is upstairs sleeping. She always sleeps in the afternoon, which is very lucky for me.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” She gave shy smile. “When she goes upstairs I can open the curtains. And sometimes I even go outside, although I am not supposed to.”
“Never?” Miss Cresswell exclaimed in shock, her gaze skimming across the dark, barren room.
“Oh no. It is bad for my lungs.”
Anthony’s brows furrowed. The mere notion of this poor creature being locked in this horrid room day after day made him furious. He did not believe for a moment her lungs were in any danger. She was being hidden away and he fully intended to discover why.
“You have still not told us y—your name,” he reminded her.
The blue eyes narrowed with sudden curiosity. “Why do you speak like that?”
Anthony smiled wryly. He was accustomed to those who studiously pretended to ignore his stutter even as they winced in discomfort. Or those who mocked it as a symbol of stupidity. Only Miss Cresswell and this child had reacted with open interest.
He discovered that he far preferred their simple honesty.
“My mother told me that I was kissed by an angel when I was a baby.”
The ridiculous tale his mother would tell to comfort her son after he had been ruthlessly teased by the children in the neighborhood seemed to please the girl.
“That must have been very nice.”
“Not always.” He regarded her in a knowing manner. “Being different from others can be a lonely business.”
The blue eyes suddenly darkened an he was allowed to glimpse her deep sadness.
“Yes.” They regarded one another in silent understanding, then a faint noise from above had her gripping the arms of her bath chair. “Oh, that is Mrs. Greene. You must go. She will be terribly angry if she finds you here.”
“Why?” he demanded.
“Because no one is supposed to be here.” She glanced anxiously toward the door. “Please go.”
Anthony’s opinion of Mrs. Greene was sinking lower by the moment. Not only did she keep the girl trapped like a prisoner in this crumbling, isolated house, but she obviously bullied her as well.
Still, as much as he longed to stay and confront the woman who was clearly charged with the task of caring for the child, he could not do so without having more information about the situation. For the moment the best he could do was avoid causing the girl any trouble.
“Very well,” he agreed as he straightened. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
Miss Cresswell flashed him an annoyed glance. “But . . .”
“Come along, Miss Cresswell.” He firmly moved to grasp her arm. “We would not wish to create difficulties.”
Without giving her an opportunity to protest, he pulled her from the room and down the hall. Even when they were back in the pale sunlight he continued to ruthlessly steer the reluctant woman across the courtyard and back through the gate.
Attempting to free herself, Miss Cresswell glared at his set profile.
“Mr. Clarke, are we in a race?”
“I fear the mysterious Mrs. Green might very well vent her ill temper upon the girl if she discovers our visit.”
“Oh.”
Miss Cresswell fell silent as they returned to the fringe of trees. Anthony moved them deeper into the shadows before coming to a halt.
“I b—believe we are out of sight.”
Wrapping her arms about her waist, Miss Cresswell glanced back toward the distant house.
“That poor child. I dislike leaving her in that house. She is clearly afraid of her nurse. And I do not believe for a moment she is not allowed out because of her lungs. She is being hidden.”
Her fierce words were in perfect accordance with his own feelings, but Anthony was not about to admit as much. Not to this madcap, impulsive chit. He would not put it beyond her to charge into the unfortunate situation without considering the consequences to the poor girl.
“Not such an unusual occurrence, I fear,” he retorted in steady tones. “Society is very unforgiving of imperfection. There are many families that have chosen to keep a child in seclusion rather than bear the shame of their malady.”
Anthony’s voice was laced with a bitterness he could not entirely conceal. Although he had managed to dismiss the occasional cruelties and amusement he had encountered over the years, he had never fully managed to heal the wounds inflicted by his own father. Charles Clarke was a cold, distant man with more pride than affection. He had never managed to forgive Anthony for being flawed. It was only his mother’s determination that had prevented Charles from abandoning his son to the care of distant relatives.
Miss Cresswell gave a slow shake of her head. “But to lock her in a dark, remote house with no company beyond a surly old woman. It makes me furious to consider a mother who would abandon her own child in such a manner.”
“At least she is safe and seemingly well fed. Someone cared enough to at least see to her basic needs.”
“Yes,” she grudgingly agreed to his logic, then without warning the hazel eyes widened in shock. “Good heavens.”
“What?”
“That house.” She turned to meet his narrowed gaze. “It must belong to Lady Broswell.”
Anthony stiffened, realizing she was more than likely correct in her assumption. The house was on Broswell property. Which meant the girl was somehow connected to the powerful family. A cold chill spread through his body.
“D—do not leap to conclusions, Miss Cresswell,” he said, attempting to halt the inevitable.
Predictably she paid him no heed as she allowed the realization to bloom to full fruition.
“How foolish of me not to have noticed the resemblance to the two Miss Hamlin’s from the first. The same pale hair, the same blue eyes. If she were properly groomed she could not be mistaken for anything but a sister.”
Anthony’s expression became grim as he regarded the beautiful countenance.
“And what if she is Lady Broswell’s daughter?”
She blinked, as if startled by the sudden steel in his voice. “What?”
“If the child does prove to be the daughter of Lady Broswell, what will you do with such information?”
“I do not comprehend what you are asking.”
Anthony drew in a deep breath. He might be fascinated by this lovely minx, but he would not stand aside and watch her use a hapless child in her bid for revenge.
“Then I shall make myself clear.” He narrowed his dark eyes. “You came to Surrey with the intention of punishing Lady Broswell for humiliating you at the opera. This morning you managed to stumble across what might be the perfect means of implementing your revenge.”
He carefully watched the emotions that rippled over her delicate features. Confusion, disbelief, and at last a blazing fury.
“Mr. Clarke, I may be impetuous and even frivolous, but I am not a monster,” she gritted. “I would never, ever do anything to harm that poor child.”
A sharp, fierce flare of relief rushed through Anthony. It was quite obvious that the volatile Miss Cresswell was not as calculating as he had briefly feared. Indeed, she appeared deeply offended by the mere suggestion that she would use the girl for her revenge.
“I n—never thought you a monster, my dear,” he assured her in gentle tones, “but it would have to be a temptation. To expose such a scandal might very well ruin Lady Broswell.”
Miss Cresswell was not appeased by his logic. In fact, Anthony was suddenly very relieved that looks could not kill.
“I have no need to use crippled children to fight my battles, sir.”
With a toss of her head she turned to stalk through the trees back toward the Carlfield house.
When You Wish Page 39