Mistaken Kiss: A Humorous Traditional Regency Romance (My Notorious Aunt Book 2)

by Kathleen Baldwin

  Harry, of course, threw up a huzzah. “Great fun, the fortune-teller. Want my palm read, as well.”

  Willa shook her head. “I don’t wish to have my fortune told. No, indeed, I merely want to apologize for frightening her.” She leveled her instructress gaze on poor Harry. “Beyond a matter of a few simple probabilities, it’s very unscientific to assume anyone can predict the future.”

  “What? All in fun. Surely you don’t mean to be so severe,” Harry sputtered, adjusting his cravat, which had wilted into a hopeless puddle in the humidity. “Can’t visit the Gypsy without having your fortune told. Wouldn’t be the thing. No, must do it.”

  Alex watched with interest as Harry struggled to persuade her.

  Willa made an effort to console the flustered fellow. She patted his arm. “You must, of course, have your palm read if it amuses you. I don’t wish to be a killjoy. “

  “Not killing my joy. No. Sterner stuff than that. Bit of fun, that’s all.” Harry cast a pleading look in Alex’s direction while flapping the unbuttoned sides of his coat.

  Tournsby hissed at him under his breath. “You’re not a duck, Harry. Leave your coat be.”

  “Just trying to drum up some air. Wet to the bone and hotter than old Ned.”

  Tournsby addressed the ladies. “I agree wholeheartedly with Miss Linnet. No one can predict my future better than I. And for the nonce, I predict a delightful afternoon out on the Thames. Think of the breeze on the river. Wouldn’t boating be far more refreshing than a visit to the Gypsy?”

  Harry realized his strategic error. “Not that hot. No. See here, I’ve stopped fanning. Cool as a day in May. Best to visit the palm reader.”

  Neddie’s self-satisfied expression made Alex want to knock him down.

  Alex struggled to keep the irritation out of his tone. “Seems to me, Harry is merely allowing for the plight of the Gypsy. He’s suggesting we pay for a reading as an apology for putting an arrow through her tent, isn’t that right, Harry?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes. That’s it.”

  “But it’s my mother’s tent,” Alfreda explained.

  Alex smiled calmly. Apparently, schemes required more effort than he’d anticipated. “Yes, of course, I meant as amends for the fright it caused the poor woman.”

  “Might be a man reading palms,” Tournsby offered, grinning sourly, as if he suspected Alex was up to something.

  “Shall we see?” Alex held open the tent flap.

  Five of them inside the tent made for a muggy crush. Alex propelled Willa to the front, where she came face to face with the Romany woman.

  “Oh my.” Willa’s voice caught.

  Alex understood her astonishment and placed his hand on her back for support.

  The Gypsy was perfect for the role of fortune-teller. The loss of one eye shocked, while at the same time her startling features compelled one to look at her. She’d been beautiful once, this woman. Now, age crumpled her spine and drew her dark olive skin into rivulets. Yet, her thick hair, whether by nature or artifice, remained black as coal. Her seeing eye was as yellow as a cat’s.

  “So, yer the young lady what nearly sent me to an early grave?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I intended no harm. The arrow went astray, you see. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

  Willa’s heart was pounding so loud Alex thought he could almost hear it from where he stood. Except, he couldn’t. Not really. He could only see her breasts rising and falling—and what was he doing watching her bosom as if it mattered? He had a task at hand. He intended to put a stop to Neddie’s devious plans and be done with this charade.

  Willa’s back felt damp under his hand. Her gown was nearly soaked through. Small consequence if she did go for an unexpected dunking in the Thames. Maybe he was wasting his time thwarting Tournsby’s plans. Still, if she drowned, he would have to shoot the reckless scoundrel, and that might prove bothersome, laws being what they were and all. He lowered his hand to the curve of her waist. Drier there. Smoother. So soft. A sensuous arc that fit his hand perfectly. He could almost feel her skin through the fabric. She looked up at him, questioning, not scolding. Inquisitive. Gad, he was pawing her right here in front of everyone. He let go immediately.

  “Come, I’ll tell you yer future.” The old woman dragged Willa away from him.

  Willa protested, but the Gypsy prevailed. The two of them sat at a small table, and the others gathered around. Alex stood back, near the entrance of the tent. The heat stifled him. He needed to breathe. Thank God, it would all be over soon. Willa would be safe, and he could take leave of this wretched party.

  The Gypsy took out a purple silk bag and poured salt into Willa’s palm, instructing her to turn it out onto the table. Once the salt was strewn, the old woman studied the spill as if it were a priceless painting. She traced the edges of the pattern with her gnarled fingers.

  “Stick out yer tongue.” She ordered and placed several grains on the end of Willa’s tongue. “Close yer eyes.”

  Alex didn’t expect Willa to comply so readily, but she did. He moved closer to watch.

  “Tell me what you taste,” The soothsayer demanded.

  “Salt.”

  “No. Concentrate. Seek other flavors.”

  Willa closed her eyes tighter. “Perhaps you’ve inadvertently mixed a grain of sugar into your salt. There is a faint sweetness.”

  Alex smiled. Little Miss Logical had discerned the Romany’s game.

  The old soothsayer nodded. “Sweetness? Eh? Very good. Anything else?”

  “Lemon. And something quite bitter I cannot identify.” She opened her eyes.

  The one-eyed woman stared at Willa as if she could peer into the young lady’s soul. After an interminable long pause, she nodded sagely. “I will tell you what it means.”

  Tournsby snorted and muttered, “Go ahead then, get on with it.”

  Harry poked him in the arm and shushed him. “Don’t disrupt the forces.”

  Tournsby snorted again.

  The fortune-teller spread her hands and indicated the wave of salt strewn on the table. “I see danger. Mortal danger.”

  Willa squinted. “You surmise that from lemon-flavored salt?”

  The fortune-teller traced the jagged perimeter of the spatter. “No. The bitter taste. It foretells of impending death.”

  Harry gasped. “Ods bodkins! No need to go that far. Surely, all salt is bitter. What?”

  The old woman shrugged and dragged her fingers through the spill making four even lines. “I can only tell you what I see. I see water.”

  She shut her yellow eye. Her head lolled back. “Dark waves lapping, splashing, closing over your head. Bubbles trickling out of your mouth as you sink down, down into the depths. Strangling!” Her hands went to her own throat. “Brown river water choking the life out of you.”

  She jolted forward, eye wide open, and clutched Willa’s hand in her twisted claw. In a whispered hiss she warned, “Stay away from the water!”

  Willa swallowed hard and shook her head. Her voice cracked as she tried to raise it above a startled whisper. “No. I don’t believe any of this. Flummery. All of it. Complete and utter nonsense.”

  Harry sputtered and chafed his hands together and backed toward the exit. “Don’t believe I want my palm read after all.”

  Tournsby glared at Alex.

  Alex shrugged.

  Alfreda patted Willa’s shoulder and urged her up from the chair. “Come on. Bound to be a hoax. Let’s go outside and get some fresh air, shall we?”

  “Just so. Never heard such folderol.” Tournsby threw back the flap and led the women out into the sunlight.

  Alex waited until they all left the tent before sliding two silver coins onto the fortune-teller’s table. “A bit drastic, don’t you think?”

  “Not easily convinced, that one.”

  Alex sighed. “I suppose not.”

  “Pity I couldn’t tell ’er the truth. Seen a vision of ’er trapped in the arms of that other one, the dark-hai
red dandy. Better off drowning, if anyone was to ask me.”

  Alex tried to school his features. He would not react. “He paid you to say that.”

  “Not he.” She shook her head, silk swishing and bells tinkling. “Not he.” She cackled.

  Alex stormed out of the tent and nearly collided with Lady Alameda and Lord Monmouth. Lady Alameda quizzed him with a mere lift of her brow, goading and questioning in one efficient gesture. He didn’t have time to satisfy her curiosity, nor did he have the patience for her bearbaiting.

  He made a swift bow and hurried to catch up with Willa before Tournsby talked her into a rowboat.

  Chapter 11

  Rub a Dub Dub, Who’s in the Tub?

  WILLA AND ALFREDA strolled arm in arm down the hillside toward the water. Lord Tournsby prattled on beside them, and Mr. Erwin stumbled along in the rear, huffing and puffing. In the distance, the Thames moved like a colossal brown snake sliding, swiftly but silently, through the grassy lowlands.

  Willa wondered, fleetingly, if the Gypsy was right. Would the snake suffocate her? Would she be pulled under the murky water, the life sucked out of her? But, no! She mentally tore herself away from such morbid imaginings and nodded at Lord Tournsby, although she wasn’t attending to his words. She needed to calculate. She could only deduce two explanations for the Gypsy’s grim prediction. Revenge for the arrow was plausible, but unlikely. Yet, that seemed to be Lord Tournsby’s prime theory.

  The other possibility baffled. What was Alex playing at? Why had he held her so fondly, touched her so intimately, and transformed her mind into useless mush? But of course, men like Alex knew exactly how to turn women into muddled idiots. But why her? And why would he want to keep her out of the water? Unless... She took a closer look at Lord Tournsby as he expounded on his hypothesis a trifle too zealously.

  “...annoyed because you frightened her. It’s quite possible your arrow scared away one of her more affluent customers.”

  So, that was it. Willa smiled. She glanced back up the hill to the fortune-teller’s yellow-striped tent to see if Alex was coming. If she had assessed the situation correctly, he would have paid off the fortune-teller by now. Sure enough, he emerged and headed toward them. She grinned. Had he truly gone to such lengths to look out for her? An extraordinary kindness. But why would he go to such lengths for her sake? Dare she hope? No, that was far too optimistic. Highly improbable. A rake like Alex? She watched him stride down the hill, so handsome, so confident, the very picture of one of Miss Edgewater’s heroes. She sighed and chided herself for indulging in such foolish twaddle. She should never have read any of those silly books. No, it was merely kindness on his part. But oh, if only he weren’t a rake.

  She turned away. “What say you, Alfreda? Was the Gypsy after revenge or a jest?”

  Alfreda’s arm was still looped around Willa’s. She smiled serenely. “All a hum. Not worried a bit. Concentrating on my goal.” She winked.

  To Willa’s amazement, Tournsby was actually listening. “What goal might that be?”

  Alfreda stopped short and gazed at him levelly. For a moment, Willa was afraid the forthright elfin princess would tell him exactly who and what her goal was. The silence began to tick loudly. Willa tugged on her friend’s arm.

  Tournsby looked away, ostensibly to adjust the lace at his cuff. “Beg pardon. Didn’t mean to intrude.”

  Alfreda’s pale blue eyes would unnerve anyone, especially focused so intently, as they were, on her prey. “Someday, I give you my word, my lord, I will tell you. But not today.”

  Tournsby swallowed, not appearing quite as cynical and self-assured as normal.

  Harry shuffled up, short of breath from the hike downhill. “Tell him what?” He glanced from one to the other, completely baffled.

  Fortunately, Alex caught up with them before anyone attempted an explanation. “Not still going rowing, are you?”

  Willa could not repress her delight. “Yes. Absolutely. Terribly nice day for it.”

  “But?” His expression was well worth the price she’d paid being frightened by the fortune-teller.

  She smiled. “Oh yes. The Gypsy convinced me. I’m normally quite nervous on the water. Might not have gone in at all. But when she told me I would drown—I realized I mustn’t live my life in fear.”

  “You’re afraid of water?” The incredulity on Alex’s face made Willa want to burst into laughter.

  “No longer.” She held a finger over her lips, trying to hide her mirth.

  “But—”

  Alfreda cut in. “Unlikely anyone would drown here, anyway. The current from the Thames into the canal is fairly moderate. And the pond is scarcely deep enough to accommodate a large boat.”

  “Excellent. There you have it. Shall we?” Tournsby led the group onto a small pier.

  Willa whispered to Alfreda. “Do you swim? I fear we are in for a dunking.”

  “Passably.” Alfreda nodded conspiratorially.

  The planks creaked as Harry thumped onto the dock, charging ahead of Tournsby. “I’ll row,” he offered.

  Lord Tournsby frowned. “Now, Harry, wouldn’t want to put you to that much exercise. Harder than you think, rowing.”

  “No. No. Insist upon it. You and the ladies must enjoy the scenery. Nothing to it. I’ll do the work.”

  Without waiting for further argument, Harry clambered into the waiting boat and took up the oars on the aft seat. Lord Tournsby climbed into the bow and steadied the craft while Willa and Alfreda gingerly stepped into the soggy boat and took their places on the center plank, leaving the small rung on the bow for Lord Tournsby. He made a fuss of adjusting the seat.

  He straightened and slapped his hand against the piling as if he just remembered something. “Afraid there’s only room for four, Alex, old chum.” He grinned, appearing quite pleased with himself.

  Alex made no reply. The muscles in his jaw contracted markedly as he stood with lips pressed together.

  “Here. Hold this for me, will you?” Tournsby handed him something and chuckled as he untied the bowline.

  “Wait!” Willa stood up suddenly. The dinghy rocked as she reached out to the pier. “I can’t do it. I changed my mind. Help me out.”

  “What?” Lord Tournsby turned, his mouth hanging open.

  Alex grabbed her hands and pulled her up onto the quay just as the rowboat drifted away. Tournsby plopped down to keep from losing his balance as Harry thrust in the paddles and propelled them away from the shore.

  “Safe journey.” Alex called with a wicked grin.

  Willa stood beside him and waved. Difficult to pretend innocence when one is terribly guilty of such delicious mischief. She’d never done anything as deceptive as this in her entire life. Her wickedness was all his fault.

  When the rowing party had paddled a few yards out, she whispered softly but firmly to the culprit. “Kindly tell your friends that the rumors are not true. My aunt has no intention of leaving me her estate. I am not her heir. Nor do I have even the smallest expectation in that quarter.”

  Alex turned to her, clearly taken aback. It gratified her that he didn’t say something absurd like, whatever can you mean? He nodded and exhaled slowly. “I’ve already told them as much. I’m afraid they refuse to believe me.”

  “You did?” She felt pleased that he’d seen through her aunt’s ploy and tried to protect her.

  “Yes, but Tournsby cannot be persuaded.”

  “In that case, I will simply tell him myself.” She glanced at the rowboat out on the pond. “Punctured the hull, did he?”

  Alex stared at her. She watched as he puzzled it all out.

  “You knew.” He moved nearer. The warmth of his body, the strength of him curling around her like an invisible fortress. Would he kiss her again? But no, of course not. That was out of the question. More foolishness.

  He opened his hand near her breast. A fat cork stopper lay in his palm. “Tournsby handed me this just before you abandoned ship.”

  �
�Yes. Alfreda noticed him down by the docks earlier. Plugging up his hole until the crucial moment, no doubt. I must say, it’s not a very original scheme.”

  “No.” Alex chuckled softly. “Don’t think he was aiming for originality. I expect he entertained visions of you swooning in his arms, overcome with gratitude after he rescued you from the river.”

  “He didn’t think I’d notice a contrived leak?”

  Alex leaned closer and crooked up that deadly half-grin that always made her legs feel weak. “Poor nitwit. He didn’t realize he was up against the likes of Copernicus or Sir Isaac Newton. He had the mistaken idea you were an unexceptional sort of chit.”

  Did Alex mean that as a compliment? Most young ladies did their level best to be unexceptional. She hoped Alex meant it in a good light. He must have, because suddenly her damp gown and sodden slippers evaporated, and she felt pleasant and warm and... what lunacy was she giving into now?

  She dove for a distraction. “I can’t abide that word. Chit. Sounds like something that fell off a tea cup.”

  “Begging your pardon. It will never pass my lips again.” He reached for her hand and placed it on his arm. “Now tell me. What gave me away? The fortune-teller, wasn’t it?”

  She smiled and nodded.

  “Blast! Oh, begging your pardon again.” He bowed his head, but his wicked smile belied any act of contrition. “Knew it was doing it up a bit brown. On such short notice, it was the only scheme I could invent to keep you out of the cursed boat.”

  “You could’ve just told me.” She returned his gaze evenly.

  He had the good sense to look properly chagrined. “Never thought of that.” He chuckled and patted her hand.

  “Nevertheless, I thank you. It was a noble gesture.”

  He stiffened. “Nothing to do with nobility. I told you before, I’m not noble. A rascal through and through. No. I was trying to spike Neddie’s guns, that’s all.”

  “Oh, of course you were! How silly of me.” She fluttered a hand to her breast just as she’d seen Honore do when playing coy. “What could I have been thinking? Never mind that you’re rescuing me from a penniless fortune hunter. Small matter that I cannot swim one wit and might have drowned.” Too bad she didn’t have a fan. She could’ve put more of Honore’s lessons to use and rapped his arm saucily. Instead, she had to content herself with fixing him with a scolding frown. “Reprehensible behavior on your part. That’s what it was.”