He looked pointedly at her companion. The other young woman kept her gaze to the ground. Verity glanced back and forth between them. “Lord Hawkeswell, this is my friend Katherine . . . Johnson. Katherine, this is the Earl of Hawkeswell.”
Katherine gaped. Something other than awe widened her eyes. “I am honored, my lord. I will take my leave now, so that—”
“You will do no such thing. Miss Johnson has unaccountably become separated from her party, Lord Hawkeswell, and they appear to have left without her. I was going to help her obtain transport home. Perhaps you would aid us.”
“Of course. I am sure that we can hire a carriage or at least a gig, Miss Johnson.”
“She will need to go some distance. However, a gig could take you to a staging inn, Miss Johnson, and you could purchase transport from there to your home.” Verity smiled brightly. “That would work, would it not, Lord Hawkeswell?”
“Certainly. I will see to it.”
“You are very kind, sir,” Miss Johnson said.
“There is a shop selling sundries down the lane a bit, on the left,” Verity said. “We will wait there while you procure the gig, Lord Hawkeswell.”
He bowed, and set off to find the gig as ordered. Verity had gotten rid of him fast enough; that was certain. Little did she know that she only delayed learning that she had won.
Katherine tucked some of the necessities they had bought into her lilac reticule, along with some pound notes, while Verity tucked the rest into her own.
“I cannot thank you enough. You have a good heart.”
“I am glad to help. We can do nothing about your garments. You will have to travel without a change. At least with that soap you can wash some things at night.” Verity pulled Katherine away, to a section of the merchant’s counter that had some privacy. “Now, I must write quickly, because Lord Hawkeswell will return soon. It does not take an earl long to find gigs, I think.”
She dipped the pen in the ink. She had begged both, and the paper, from the merchant in exchange for a few pence.
She jotted a few lines to Daphne, asking her to give Katherine a bed for a night or so. It would be up to Daphne to decide if the hospitality extended beyond that.
She folded the note and gave it to Katherine. “Do you remember what I told you, about how to find The Rarest Blooms once you reach Cumberworth?”
Katherine nodded. Verity took a deep breath and called up whatever strength and nerve she could muster. “I am going to leave you here for Lord Hawkeswell to find, Katherine. He will put you in that gig, and you will be on your way. I, however, have something that I must do now, and I cannot wait with you.”
Katherine frowned. “I do not understand.”
“Give him the message that I will meet him here shortly. He will treat you like the fine gentleman he is, so do not worry about his reaction to my absence.”
Katherine appeared skeptical, and frightened. Verity grasped her wrist. “You will acquit yourself splendidly on this journey. You found your way here alone. You will find your way to Cumberworth. Godspeed, Katherine. We will meet again someday, I am sure.”
After putting Katherine in the gig, Hawkeswell waited ten minutes for Verity to return. When she did not, he knew she never would.
He strode down the lane, glancing in shops, knowing she would not be in any of them. She had bolted. She had bold-faced lied in giving her promise, and found her own transport while he was arranging that gig for Miss Johnson. He had warned her that he would follow and find her, but in truth he had no idea where she was going.
He found himself on the edge of the old section of the village. He went down to the beach, to see how far out Summerhays’s yacht was, and whether he could hail it.
As he squinted at the bright water, a fishing boat made its way into the shallow cove. It moved along the edge of his view, finally drawing his attention.
He stared at that boat. It was coming in to shore, not leaving with any young woman on board, but it reminded him that not only roads connected this village to the world.
He had been an idiot. He had elicited a promise that she would not hire a carriage, but on the coast she would not need to. She might indeed be afraid of the sea, but she was displaying a determination that could overcome that if necessary.
His head snapped to the left, to where other fishing boats had clustered. He strode along the beach toward them.
“Can you not go faster?” Verity asked desperately. C “He is coming with the water now, Madam. You wouldn’t want to be without it. We be looking at six hours easy, maybe more, before we are onshore again.”
Her stomach clenched at the notion of being at the mercy of the sea that long. Still, she tapped her foot impatiently while the fisherman’s son rolled a keg to the boat, and hoisted it on board. She had never guessed it took so long to get a little boat under way.
“We be all set,” the man said. He extended a hand. “You jump on board now, and we can cast off.”
She got into the boat clumsily, but finally the man and his son started throwing off lines. Fear at being caught turned to elation at getting away. She kept her back to the sea so that bigger fear would not ruin the joy.
The last rope loosened. She watched the buildings get incrementally smaller as they drifted away and more water surrounded them. Just as she was having disconcerting images of a huge wave rising up and swallowing her, she noticed a man striding toward them on the beach.
Hawkeswell.
“Hurry,” she urged. “An extra pound if you get this boat away right now.”
The son began unfurling a sail.
They were maybe a hundred yards out when Hawkeswell noticed them. He stormed onto the weathered, short dock and stood there, glaring. She felt his fury roll toward her over the water.
He yelled for the boat to return.
“Who be that?” the son asked.
His father shrugged. “A gentleman, it appears. Do you know him, Madam?”
“He is some distance away and it is hard to see in the sun. I would pay him no mind, my good man. Once we are out of the estuary, remember that I want to go north.”
Hawkeswell gestured hard for the boat to return. She trusted he would give up soon.
“What’s he sayin’ now?” the son asked.
His father cupped his ear. “Hard to tell. Sounds like . . . ab-abduction.” He jolted alert. “I think he is accusing us of abduction.”
“What nonsense,” Verity said. “I asked you to take me on this voyage. It is beyond the pale that this stranger is trying to interfere in nothing of his concern.”
Unfortunately, Hawkeswell had the captain’s attention now. The man went to the end of the boat and cupped his ear again. Whatever Hawkeswell was yelling sounded like bird squawks to Verity, and she refused to believe that her fisherman would hear anything.
“He keeps yelling a name, I think. Yerl Awksell? Merl Fawksell?” He cupped his ear and leaned into the breeze. Suddenly his hand fell and he turned wide-eyed to his son. “I think he is saying he is the Earl of Hawkeswell.”
“Could be he wants to sail north too,” his son said. “Would be good to take him if he does.”
The father chewed that over. The son ceased working the sail. Verity was horrified.
“If he is indeed the earl, which I think very unlikely, he would have his own yacht,” she said. “He would not need to hire this boat to go north.”
“True. True,” the father said, scratching his chin. He looked to the shore, where Hawkeswell stood in a pose of noble power, arms crossed and legs parted. “Looks like a fine gentleman, though. He could be an earl. Never saw one before myself.”
“I have,” Verity said. “They look much finer than that man does.”
“He be yellin’ again,” the son said. “I’m gonna take us in a bit closer to hear.”
“No!” Verity cried.
“Won’t take but a minute or two. If he is an earl, it won’t do to just sail away, now, will it? M’wife will burn m
y ears if I turned down the chance of a lord’s hire of the boat.”
The boat began a broad, circular turn while the son moved the sail. Verity sickened when she saw that it would end up too close for comfort to Hawkeswell.
His image turned crisp as they neared. Blue eyes pinned her in place.
“It was wise for you to come back,” he called to the captain. “Had you not, you would have answered to the magistrate.”
The captain’s eyes bulged at the threat. “For what?”
“That is my wife you are abducting.”
“The hell you say!” The captain turned on her in shock.
“You are not abducting me. Should any magistrate become involved, which I doubt—he is only throwing false threats—I would swear that I had hired this boat and—”
“If I say it is an abduction, it is,” Hawkeswell called.
“Return her at once, or answer to me.”
“If you do return to that shore, you will answer to me,” Verity said.
The captain scratched his chin again. He removed his hat and scratched his head. He looked at Hawkeswell, then turned sheepishly to her.
“Don’t want to get in the middle of a row, if you understand, Madam. Best we go back.” He gestured to his son, and the boat aimed at Hawkeswell.
Verity fumed the whole way. Three more minutes and . . . Better to not have tried than to have success snatched from her grasp like this. She had screwed up her courage to brave the sea too!
Hawkeswell no longer glared when they drifted into shallow water. He smiled ever so graciously, as if he welcomed a friend’s return from France on a ship decked out for royalty. She was not fooled in the least.
The boat glided up against the short, low dock. Hawkeswell strolled over to the boat’s edge. “Testing your bravery, my dear?” He smiled at the captain. “She fears the sea. Five more minutes out there and you would have had a screaming lunatic on your hands.”
“A narrow escape, then, m’lord.”
“Oh, most certainly. Yes, indeed.” Still smiling below blazing eyes, he gestured for Verity. “No need for you gentlemen to tie up. Come here, darling.”
She obeyed, because there really was no place else to go. He grasped her waist and, as if she weighed nothing, swung her high over the railing and planted her on the dock beside him. The boat began drifting away again.
Hawkeswell looked down at her, none too pleased. She looked back, not happy either.
“You will be relieved to know that Miss Johnson is safely on her way.”
“Thank you. I knew that you would see to that far better than I.”
“The next time I obtain your promise not to bolt and disappear, I will have to phrase it like a lawyer, and cover all contingencies and modes of transport.”
He did not appear nearly as angry as she expected. Barely vexed, if truth be told. More thoughtful than annoyed.
“Do you have such little faith in your powers of persuasion, Verity?” he continued. “You did not even give me a chance to accept or reject last night’s offer.”
“A rare opportunity beckoned, and I took it.” They began walking. “Since you do not appear too angry, can I hope that you have decided to accept my offer?”
“I have been contemplating it at length. Putting aside pride. It is why I came back, looking for you.”
“Have you made a decision?”
“Not quite yet. Let us walk back, while I contemplate some more, and try to put my irritation about this little adventure of yours behind me.”
She gladly accompanied him back to the main lane, then onto the terrace. She said nothing at all, so he could contemplate all he wanted. She prayed that her attempt to get away had not changed his mind for the worse. He would not be so cruel, so stupid, as to keep her in this marriage over that. Would he?
She indulged in memories of home, and barely contained her joy. He was going to do it, she was sure. He was going to accept her proposal.
They walked the length of the village again, along the terrace. They went down to the beach once they had passed the shops. It was a fine day and other yachts were out on the water, their sails puffing in the gentle breeze.
Hawkeswell spotted Summerhays still fighting fish on his boat, a good ways out. It would be another hour at least before the yacht returned.
If he had stayed on that yacht, Verity would be many miles up the coast before anyone even knew she was gone. She was succeeding in her goal to prove she was much more trouble than any man needed in his life.
“Let us walk this way,” he suggested, guiding Verity away from the village’s western end. They strolled west along the shore. The breeze picked at the narrow shaft of her pale yellow dress, pushing and pulling it against her legs and hips so her body’s form was more visible than she realized.
The village lay in a little cove, and the land rose a bit toward its western point. He helped Verity up the cliff and hill, and found a spot where rocks gave way to some grasses. The prospect was impressive, with views of the entire cove and the coast in both directions. Tall ships heading into the Thames estuary could be seen on the southern horizon.
“I want to talk to you about your offer,” he said. He shed his frock coat and laid it down so she could sit. It was utterly private up here. The world would never know what was said and agreed upon, and whether, having sold his troth for some silver, he now sold a bit of his honor too.
A better man would let her go free and accept no money as consolation for losing her fortune. He could not afford to be that good.
She settled down on his coat, smiling optimistically about the talk to come. She saw it in him, no doubt. The decision had probably etched his face. Her eyes sparkled with delight at her quick success.
He looked down at her and a memory flashed vividly in his mind, of last night and her naked leg. It had been surprisingly difficult to let her foot go. It had been deucedly hard not to kiss her leg, her knee, her thigh, and more. He inhaled, looked out to sea, and managed to banish that leg from his thoughts.
He sat down too. She had her legs straight out, like a girl’s, and her ankles showed beyond the pale yellow hem. He noted that she could use some new shoes.
“I need to know something,” he said. It was pride and conceit that needed to know and nothing more. “If I agree to your plan, do you intend to marry someone else? Is all of this really about another man?”
“There is no man waiting, if that is what you mean. I may marry, however, if I find the right man.”
“One of whom your father would approve. One who would be a good steward of his legacy.”
“Yes.”
“A man like Mr. Travis?”
She laughed, and clapped her hands together. “Mr. Travis? Oh, my. No, not Mr. Travis. Why, Mr. Travis is even older than you are.”
He might mind her speaking of him as if he were ancient if her mouth did not captivate him while she laughed and smiled. When in repose it appeared small and fashionably bowed. When she laughed it looked larger, sensual, and luscious.
“I am only thirty-one, Verity. Although ten years your senior, I am hardly ready for canes and false teeth.”
“I only meant that Mr. Travis is much too old for me. It is not my intention to marry him. Also, if I marry anyone, you will still have the income I promised. As I said, we will arrange that before any husband can interfere, and in a way that a husband cannot break later. My father always said that in England anything can be accomplished with the right contract.”
“Well, I had to know.”
“I expect that you did.” She said it kindly, as if she understood something of a man’s mind, and why he would have to know. “Are we agreed, Lord Hawkeswell? Will you join me in trying to undo this wrong?”
“I am still thinking about it,” he heard himself say.
He had intended to make quick work of this, and say something else entirely, but most of his attention had suddenly been distracted by a lock of her hair that had escaped her bonnet and te
ased at her brow. That one lock, and the way it feathered against her pale skin, looked unbearably erotic for some reason. It maddened him. All of her did.
“Perhaps you should try to persuade me.”
“Persuade you?”
“With a kiss. If I agree, you will probably say that the kisses are over along with my claims to you. I would like one very nice kiss from you. While we are still married, and before our union is officially challenged.”
He was teasing her, and she knew it. Her exasperated expression was not so much scolding as amused. “You want me to kiss you before you tell me your decision.”
“Yes, only not like last night. A sweet kiss, not a bird’s peck.”
“It would still be a very fast one, sweet though it may be. I think that you are silly to care about kisses now. It would be wiser to kiss no more.”
“What harm can there be in it? No one will see us here.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Only one. No more.”
“Of course.” He plucked at the ribbon of her deep-brimmed bonnet. “This was built to prohibit any kisses. It is like the wimples worn by the nuns in France. You will never be able to kiss me with it on.” He untied the ribbons and removed the bonnet and set it aside on the grass.
She looked beautiful with the afternoon sun highlighting her hair and her cheek as she turned to him. She considered her situation, and rose to her knees. She appeared very serious, like a student puzzling out a difficult cipher.
She lowered her head. Her lips touched his delicately. She kissed softly. Sweetly. Her lips lingered a moment. Their velvet softness rested only one extra instant, but it was longer than needed, and that told him everything he wanted to know.
He cupped her nape with his hand so she could not end the kiss too quickly now. He encouraged her to linger a few moments more. Then a few more yet.
The reason for coming to this isolated rise escaped his mind. Only the delicate breath of her kiss mattered, and the heat flashing through him, destroying resolve and good intentions.
Provocative in Pearls Page 9