by Alyssa Drake
Her heart thrummed, beating wildly against her rib cage as she nodded her head. “I would be delighted to have your company, Mr. Reid.”
“Thomas invited me to dinner tomorrow evening. My boys have been begging to spend time with Mrs. Hastings’ daughters. Perhaps we could find time for another lesson after we dine.”
Oh, he was talking about dancing. Embarrassment flooded Daphne. “I am certain we can find some time to practice.”
“Excellent.” Mr. Reid rose, holding his hand out to Daphne. “Unfortunately, the hour is late, and I must return home. May I escort you to the veranda?”
“No, thank you.”
“You plan to stay on the floor of the gazebo for the rest of the evening?”
“As I have not worked out how to get into the house without notice, I wish to remain here for a bit longer.” She patted the sketchbook next to her. “I have my drawings to keep me occupied.”
“I shall await your story of this evening’s events tomorrow. I hope it is filled with adventure.” With a bow, Mr. Reid turned and walked down the steps. Instead of following the path toward the front of the house, he veered off on a spoke and vanished into the darkness.
Sighing, Daphne leaned back, tucking her hands behind her head, staring at the glittering stars. Wrong on both accounts. Was she destined to be a spinster? She supposed there were worse things than spending the rest of her life with Aunt Abigail. Her mind returned to the prospect of Mr. Lockhearst. Was she willing to give up on the possibility of love and marry a man for whom she had no feeling?
Chapter Nine
Twenty minutes prior…
“Has Miss Randall injured herself?” Aunt Abigail’s shocked voice came from the staircase.
Thomas jerked his head up, breaking the kiss. He smiled sheepishly at Aunt Abigail as Miss Randall slowly retracted her hand from his neck. She did not seem the least bit upset Aunt Abigail had caught them in a slightly compromising position.
“She fainted.”
“Then I suggest you place her on the sofa so she can recover.” Aunt Abigail approached swiftly, her cane thumping on the floor, loudly echoing in the foyer. Her mouth pulled into a grimace as she entered the sitting room.
“Of course.” Thomas carefully set Miss Randall on the sofa.
Shoving past him, Aunt Abigail sank down beside Miss Randall’s head. Brushing a hand across Miss Randall’s pale forehead, Aunt Abigail scowled at Thomas, arching a sharp eyebrow. “Is there anything else you wish to share with me… perhaps news of an engagement?”
“No.” Thomas’ stomach flipped over, his eyes flying between Miss Randall and his aunt. “I was merely assisting Miss Randall.” Trembling, he stumbled backward, hovering in the doorway. Surely, Miss Randall would not assume… would she? Everything happened so quickly, one moment they were conversing, and the next, she was a puddle on the floor. He couldn’t very well leave her there. He’d picked her up, then her mouth was on his. His mind swam. He wasn’t even sure who kissed whom.
“Miss Randall,” Thomas bowed, edging out of the room, “please excuse me, I have an urgent matter to attend. I shall leave you in my aunt’s capable care.”
Escape. The word echoed through his mind. Ideally, he would head straight for the stables, but he had sworn to Benjamin he would not disappear this evening. He passed the foyer, his gaze skipping to the front door. Where could he go and not break his promise… The gardens!
Silently, he crept outside, sneaking along the gravel path leading to the side of the house. The walkway, lit only by the lights emanating from the first floor of the house, proved to be absent of people. An engagement… The words haunted him.
As he rounded the first bend, voices echoed from the veranda, the muffled sounds indistinguishable against the music pouring from the ballroom. Freezing against the ivy-covered wall, Thomas’ eyes searched the visible portion of the veranda. The voices moved closer to his hiding place, and he was able to differentiate two pairs of shoes.
“Mother, pushing Thomas toward every available female will only cause him to run away faster.” Benjamin’s whispered statement floated past Thomas’ head.
“Not every female, Benjamin,” replied their mother; Thomas heard a smile in her voice. “I have someone specific in mind.”
“Is it Miss Randall?”
His mother’s response was so low, Thomas couldn’t hear it. Was it Miss Randall? She was the obvious choice.
“Remember Alana?” Benjamin’s soft question floated around the corner.
His mother strolled to the edge of the veranda. Thomas pressed himself into the greenery, crushing several leaves, and sucked in his stomach, watching his mother as she stared out at the courtyard. “I never interfered in their relationship,” she replied with a sniff, dabbing her nose on a handkerchief she kept hidden. “Perhaps if I had, Thomas would be married.”
“Thomas is content,” Benjamin replied, moving to stand beside their mother.
“He is pretending. A mother knows when her children are unhappy. Do you not want him to experience the same joy as you?”
Benjamin sighed heavily. “What do you need me to do?”
“I will let you know when Abigail and I are in need of your assistance.” She kissed his cheek and disappeared into the house.
“Thomas,” Benjamin called, his voice echoing around the side of the house. “I know you can hear me. It’s only a matter of time, dear brother, before you can no longer ignore their meddling. Mother’s mind will not be changed.” Without another word, Benjamin turned and strode across the veranda, his footsteps fading as he entered the house.
Growling, Thomas scurried along the garden path. Lights twinkled softly from the ballroom, a subtle distraction from his current state of mind. He kicked a rock with the toe of his boot, the childish action bringing a smile to his lips. He kicked it again. Life was so much simpler when he was younger, when he was just Thomas, not the younger brother of Lord Westwood, “Most Eligible Bachelor in Town”—a label with which Thomas most definitely did not want to be saddled.
He debated hiding in the salon. If he continued his circle, he would be able to reenter the house through the kitchens without drawing too much attention to his whereabouts. The salon would protect him from all those marriage-seeking mothers—including his own, whose enthusiasm increased, following Benjamin’s successful match to Miss Hastings. The salon would be empty as his friends had abandoned him in favor of the company of their wives or soon-to-be wives—Thomas amended his thought to include Benjamin, the most desperate sop of them all. Thomas smirked. After all those years managing to avoid the wiles of the most irrepressible females, Benjamin shamelessly pursued Edward’s little sister like a naïve schoolboy.
Thomas arrived at a fork in the garden path. Instead of continuing to the rear of the house, he turned left, opting instead for the privacy of the gazebo. Following the walkway to the quaint structure in the center of the garden, he glanced over his shoulder at the house, confirming no one had followed him to his sanctuary.
He climbed the stairs slowly, his hand gliding along the familiar worn wood of the banister. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the evening air, filling his lungs with the peacefulness of the garden surrounding him. A board creaked beneath his boot. Taking note of the sound, Thomas took another step, pressing lightly on the floor. He listened intently to the squeak to determine if the board would need repair, sliding forward at a sluggish pace, testing each board with his foot.
With his attention on the wood, he didn’t see the dark shadow sprawled on the ground in front of him. Thomas tripped over a soft form and landed heavily on the gazebo floor. Rolling to his knees quickly, he found himself staring nose-to-nose with an engaging pair of brown eyes.
“Why did you kick me?” asked Miss Clemens’ sweet voice, her question tinged with an annoyed edge.
Thomas blinked as his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness. Miss Clemens glared at him incredulously, her hands planted on her hips, her pale skin glowing
pink from her ire. Grimacing, he rubbed his elbow, which ached due to his awkward fall. “I didn’t see you.”
“How could you not see me?” She gestured to herself with a violent swipe of her hand.
“I was preoccupied.” Thomas grinned sheepishly and shrugged.
Miss Clemens relaxed slightly, resting on her heels as she sat back on the floor. Folding her hands, she dropped them to her lap. “I must confess, I do find myself distracted at times.”
Her anger disappeared like wisps of fury escaping into the night air. Saying nothing more, she twisted her body around. Returning her attention to the garden surrounding the gazebo, Miss Clemens inhaled deeply, her shoulders rising and falling heavily with her exhalation.
Thomas watched her curiously, his eyes suddenly narrowing. “What are you doing here?”
“I reside here,” Miss Clemens replied without turning her head.
Rolling his eyes, an exasperated sigh escaped him. “I am aware of your current living situation. I am referring to the fact you are in the garden, by yourself, at this time of night, by yourself.”
Miss Clemens’ eyes slid sideways, a small grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You repeated yourself, by yourself.”
Spirited. Thomas fought to hide his snicker. He wondered how much of Miss Clemens’ attitude was due to Miss Hastings’ influence. “Miss Clemens, I was making a point. You are outside, alone, and unchaperoned. It is dangerous.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Reid. I am not alone, you are outside too,” Miss Clemens replied blithely, rotating herself a quarter-turn. Balancing her weight on one delicate arm, leaning back, she leveled her gaze with him. “Are you suggesting I am not safe in your company?”
“Rest assured, your virtue is protected. However, there are other gentlemen who would take advantage of your current naïveté.”
Miss Clemens glanced to her right and left, an exaggerated head movement, then returned her gaze to him, her eyes sparkling. “I see no other gentlemen.”
Benjamin must want to throttle Miss Hastings at times. Because at this very moment, Thomas couldn’t decide if he wanted to argue with Miss Clemens or kiss her. His forehead wrinkled at the thought.
“I am one of only a few who attended this evening,” Thomas ground out. “Now, as to my earlier question, what you are doing outside?”
“I was stargazing,” admitted Miss Clemens, gesturing to the gleaming sky above them.
“At this hour?” asked Thomas, his jaw dropping. “It is near midnight.”
“I have attempted to perform the activity during the daylight, but the task proved impossible.” She flashed a smile.
“I think Miss Hastings has irreversibly affected your character,” murmured Thomas.
“For the better, I believe,” replied Miss Clemens, twisting toward the garden again.
Thomas realized Miss Clemens’s attention was focused on a small patch of sky over the rose arbor. On the gazebo floor rested an open book with numerous marks on the current page, indicating Miss Clemens had been watching the sky for several days. Curiously, Thomas scooted closer, his pant legs scratching against the wooden floor.
Miss Clemens glanced back at the sound, hesitantly watching him approach. She pushed the book toward him shyly. “I began tracking this constellation after the Leverett ball,” she said, pointing at a spot in the center of the page. “The gazebo provides an excellent viewing location.”
“This activity might be easier with a telescope,” Thomas teased as he inspected the chart, grinning as he glanced upward, studying the firmament.
Miss Clemens shook her head. “I don’t have enough money for such extravagances.”
“I am certain Aunt Abigail would be happy to,”—Thomas paused mid-sentence, realization washing over him—“she doesn’t know of your late-night activity, does she?”
Miss Clemens smiled again, a secret grin which dissolved immediately. “Considering your reaction upon discovering me in the gazebo this evening, I cannot say she would approve. Mrs. Hastings definitely would not allow this behavior to continue.”
“I am certain Edward wouldn’t either.” Thomas grimaced.
“Thus, my predicament.”
“I understand their concerns. Mr. Morris is still a viable threat, as is his accomplice.”
“I am of little import to either Mr. Morris or his accomplice.”
“You are a resident of this house and a friend to Miss Hastings, don’t discount yourself. You must stay attentive.”
“Please don’t say anything, Mr. Reid,” she begged, placing her hand on top of his and squeezing. “They will make me stop.”
Tilting his head, he contemplated Miss Clemens for a moment. “How have you managed to avoid discovery all this time?”
A blush traveled from Miss Clemens’s scalp to just below her bodice. She looked down briefly, kneading her hands together. “I snuck out after everyone went to bed.”
“And this evening?” Thomas leaned closer. “How did you escape during the party? There are people everywhere.”
“Miss Hastings gave me an idea.” Rotating her body to the right, Miss Clemens pointed at the second floor of the house. “That room, third from the left, is my room.”
Thomas’ gaze followed her direction. Counting to the third window, Thomas noticed an ivy-covered trellis which ran the height of the house. The wooden lattice structure, its beams interwoven with greenery, was situated strategically next to Miss Clemens’s window, providing an excellent provisional ladder—albeit a dangerous one. The slick ivy could easily permit Miss Clemens to slip and tumble to the gravel pathway below. A growl echoed in the back of Thomas’ throat.
“Miss Clemens, for your own safety…” He paused, watching Miss Clemens’s face crumble, the deep misery in her eyes piercing his heart. Thomas swallowed and began again. “For your own safety, I insist you bring a chaperone on your late-night excursions. Anytime you wish to observe the stars, I volunteer to accompany you. There will be no further need to risk your life by shimmying down the column.”
“Thank you, Mr. Reid.” Splitting into a wide grin, Miss Clemens’s face cleared like sunlight breaking through the cloud cover. She leapt at him, flinging her arms around his neck. He glanced down in surprise. More amazing was his reaction to her exuberance, he quite enjoyed the soft feel of her in his arms. Suddenly, she released him, aware of her close proximity and inappropriate conduct. Casting her eyes downward, she sat back, mumbling a barely audible apology, “Please forgive me.”
Thomas reached out and tipped her chin until she was forced to look up into his eyes. “Forgiven,” he whispered.
Miss Clemens bit her lip, which distracted Thomas, his eyes flicking to her plump lips. He wondered how they would taste, how they would look bruised from his teeth. A tremble raced through his body. She was an innocent—more so than Miss Randall, whose forwardness twisted his already jumbled thoughts.
Thomas shook his head to clear the carnal images and forced himself to stretch out on the gazebo floor. His body burned in protest. Patting the space next to him, he dragged the sketchbook closer. “Miss Hastings recently introduced me to the merits of watching the sky. Please show me your constellation.”
Miss Clemens nodded and resumed her position on the floor, lying next to Thomas, pointing up at a grouping of stars above the rose arbor. “It’s right over there. Isn’t it beautiful?” she murmured, her voice colored with awe.
“Indeed,” replied Thomas, preoccupied with the exuberant glow from Miss Clemens’s eyes. He inspected her intriguing visage furtively. The light blush of excitement fanned through her delicate skin. He felt drawn, unconsciously scooting closer until his arm brushed against hers. Fascinated by the flames which licked along the entire right side of his body, Thomas pressed himself closer.
“And over there…” Miss Clemens rolled over unexpectedly as she spoke, her nose bumping against Thomas’ nose, causing her to gasp, her pink lips parting in surprise.
Thomas inhaled her brea
th, holding her gaze with his eyes. An innocent—the words rang again in his mind. He closed his eyes and sighed—a measured exhale which slowed his racing heart. Reluctantly, he turned onto his back, lacing his fingers behind his head. The cool evening air danced between them.
“Over where?” he ground out, ignoring the cacophonous complaints of his body.
Beside him, Miss Clemens released a shaky sigh, drawing a second breath before indicating the constellation again with a quivering gesture. Thomas warily eyed her trembling hand. Was she afraid of him, of his ability to remain in control over his lustful desires? He sat up, grasping Miss Clemens’s hand, yanking her into a sitting position. Turning quickly, he captured Miss Clemens’s chin between his fingers. “There is no need for you to fear my intentions. I would never take advantage of your innocence, no matter what Mr. Shirely has insinuated about my character.”
Miss Clemens swallowed. “I hold no stock in the accusations of Mr. Shirely.”
Thomas leaned back, his limbs relaxing. “I have no want of a mistress or a wife. You are safe in my care.”
“That is a relief, Mr. Reid,” murmured Miss Clemens.
Thomas reached up, his hand closing around hers. Dragging her back down, she resumed naming the visible stars, pointing at the sky with her free hand. Traitorously, his thumb caressed the delicate skin on the back of Miss Clemens’s hand, shooting waves of fire down his spine. He longed to roll toward her again, press his body against hers, and increase the inferno threatening to explode in his body.
Apparently, Aunt Abigail did not consider a kiss to be an intention of marriage. Otherwise, she would have demanded he make an offer to Miss Randall immediately. Did that hold true for Miss Clemens as well?
His eyes skated over her face. “Would you like to have another horseback riding lesson tomorrow morning?”
“It will be difficult to complete that activity with a sprained ankle.” She gestured to her leg.