My Runaway Heart

by Miriam Minger

  He nearly growled aloud at her sudden smile, its brilliance hitting him like a blow.

  "Oh, Jared, then you have thought of the possibility—I mean, that we might be togeth—"

  "No more, Lindsay; now is not the time to speak of it. I have to think—what is proper and right for us. Now come."

  She did, flying to him with such elation in her eyes that Jared could have kicked himself right then and there.

  How could he have not seen it? Not understood? Damn him for a bloody fool!

  Grateful that her obvious delight had left her speechless, Jared quickly led her from his room, down the hall, down the stairs and through the tavern—sleepy patrons, Della and Sprigs staring curiously after them—then outside into the street, where he was grateful, too, that it wasn't yet so late that finding transport might have proved impossible. As he flagged an oncoming coach, the driver thankfully giving him a nod, he felt a hand upon his arm.

  "Jared, you've forgotten your coat—"

  "Don't trouble yourself," he muttered, flinging her cloak around her shoulders. He waved the driver to stay in his seat and helped Lindsay alight himself; he could feel that she was shivering in the cool night air.

  After a terse command to make all haste to Piccadilly for double the wage, he joined her inside the dark interior and, seeing no help for it, drew her close once he had settled next to her. She immediately snuggled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her hand splayed innocently upon his chest, making Jared groan to himself and pray that the driver knew the meaning of haste.

  It seemed the fellow did when the coach careened around a corner, Jared bracing a foot upon the opposite seat to keep his balance while Lindsay was thrown nearly into his lap. With her rump perched atop his thigh, he groaned again as she laughed, the merry sound tugging strangely upon him while he thought that she must consider their mad dash through London's streets some grand adventure.

  "I can't believe how fast we're going!" she cried above the clattering hooves, her hand slipping between his legs as she tried to right herself. But another jarring turn only made matters worse, Jared catching Lindsay when she tumbled backward, her bottom now soundly resting upon a mutinous part of him which had grown swollen and heavy as with a mind of its own.

  And suddenly he was clenching his teeth for a miracle, that Sixteen Piccadilly was no more than a moment ahead, while Lindsay giggled in his lap with no thought to her peril . . . her cloak fallen open, her creamy breasts straining against her bodice as she tried futilely to right herself despite the coach's furious rocking, her lovely face flushed with laughter.

  "Jared, could . . . you help . . . ?"

  She was breathless and giggled some more even as she managed to throw her arms around his neck, and Jared felt something snap inside him. Why the hell not help?

  Help himself, he amended, drawing her hungrily against him and capturing her smiling red lips with his own. He felt her start, only to relax a second later into utter acquiescence in his arms, which made him kiss her all the harder, her softness, her warmth intoxicating him.

  Why not enjoy one last moment of the reckless Miss Lindsay Somerset's charms, when he would never see her again after tonight? The Season would be over before he planned to return to London again, and by then she would be safely betrothed or even married and ensconced in the country, where she would give little thought to the bastard who had lied to her and disappeared without a word.

  She was limp, her arms fallen from his shoulders, when Jared finally raised his head, and he wondered if she might have fainted. Then, as the carriage rumbled to a stop next to a lamppost, he saw that she was staring up at him dreamily, her lips slack and swollen from his kiss.

  Struck by more than a twinge of regret, Jared had only to remind himself that the foolish chit wished to make a husband of him—damnation, would she shackle herself to the devil?—and it wasn't hard for him to stifle the unwanted emotion. His harsh self-appraisal reminded him, too, of the business he'd left half finished at Offley's—business he would not be distracted from any longer. Frowning, he lifted her almost roughly from his lap.

  "Lindsay, you're home."

  "Home?" Feeling as if she had awoken from a wonderful dream, Lindsay attempted to clear her reeling senses as Jared brushed past her and shoved open the carriage door.

  "Yes. Now, gather your cloak and I'll help you down."

  She did as he bade, his gallantry thrilling her, his husky baritone and the strength of his hands closing around her waist thrilling her, the ease with which he lifted her thrilling her, everything about Jared Giles, the Earl of Dovercourt, thrilling her. She knew she was smiling like a lovesick fool, but she couldn't help herself, her joy so great that her dream was at last coming true.

  "Go on, Lindsay. I'll wait here with the coach until you're safely inside."

  "You're not going to walk to the front door with me?"

  Disappointment filled her when he shook his head, but she felt relieved at once when he drew her into his arms.

  "I'll call upon you in three days, Saturday—"

  "So long?"

  "Shhh, I told you I must think—make the right plans for us. You must be patient and not try to find me, no more sneaking from your aunt's house, no excursions at night by yourself into the city, nothing of the kind. Do I have your word?"

  She nodded, thrilled that he had said it again—us. Us!

  "Promise me, Lindsay. Say it."

  "Yes, yes, I promise!"

  "Good. I don't want to find myself having to rescue you again. Now go."

  He released her, Lindsay feeling instantly bereft. But when he inclined his head almost sternly to the walk, she knew he was thinking of her welfare and that it was best to oblige him.

  Warmed to her toes by his concern, she turned, but then she spun back to him and, standing on tiptoe, pressed her lips briefly to his. She saw a flicker of something in his eyes, but she didn't linger, instead gathering her cloak around her and flying down the walk, closer to floating on air than ever before.

  Once inside the house, she leaned upon the door, listening with equal measures of longing and excitement as the carriage rumbled away, her heart pounding in her ears.

  Three days. It would feel like forever. But what was that to a lifetime of happiness?

  Hugging herself, she hurried upstairs, paying no mind to the creaky steps. She wished so desperately that Corisande were here to share her wonderful news—but then again, she could rouse Matilda if the plucky Scotswoman wasn't already awake and up waiting for her. On Saturday Jared would be back, well under a week!

  With a jubilant laugh, Lindsay raced to the attic door.

  Chapter 11

  "Aunt Winnie, were you ever acquainted with Alistair Giles, the fifth Earl of Dovercourt?"

  Lindsay continued stirring two lumps of sugar into her cup of chamomile tea, hoping she looked and sounded more nonchalant than she felt as Aunt Winifred glanced up from patting Primrose and Ignatius, the Welsh corgis snoring contentedly at her feet.

  "Alistair Giles? Oh, my, yes, I knew him, as did my beloved Rupert, God rest his soul. They both had a great fondness for hunting grouse. A fine man, too, but why, dear girl, would you be asking—"

  "No reason," Lindsay fibbed, a very real purpose on her mind. "I chanced to hear his name in passing conversation last night at Lady Butler's masquerade . . ."

  "How strange. The poor man's been dead now eight years, although he was quite a dashing figure—so handsome and a staunch widower for the last decade of his life. Broke many a lady's heart, I'd imagine. Was it perhaps a woman you overheard speaking of him?"

  "Yes, yes, a woman," Lindsay fibbed again, stifling a pinch of guilt. She took a sip of tea, the conversation progressing even better than she had hoped. "But I didn't recognize her—only thought it curious she was speaking so well of a gentleman whose nephew is so . . . notorious."

  "And a pity it is, too!" Shaking her head, Aunt Winifred brushed some crumpet crumbs from her lap
. "At least for the poor man's memory. Such a tragic story. Such a tragic family."

  Lindsay leaned back casually in her chair, trying not to show her excitement that her idea had worked. She hadn't been quite sure how to broach the subject of Jared, but with Saturday fast approaching—dear Lord, grant her patience; could it really be tomorrow?—she hoped by discussing him somehow, or at least his family, that his appearance at their door wouldn't be such a complete shock to her aunt.

  "Tragic?" she prodded lightly. "How so?"

  "In every way, truly, especially what that—that rogue has done since to his family's good name. Disgraceful!"

  Lindsay winced, but she covered her reaction with another sip of tea while Aunt Winifred tipped the porcelain teapot to pour herself a fresh cup.

  "Ah, me, it's been three years since much was said of the family's misfortunes, but as I recall, that's when Lord Giles—the present Lord Giles, mind you—returned from India, where he had run off to seven years before and left his younger sister—what was her name? Ah, yes, Elise. Broke her poor heart and his uncle's, left them with no more than a note saying he had no wish to remain in England. And the two had come from India only a few weeks before to live with Alistair, their parents dying in Calcutta of some strange fever."

  "Jar—I mean, Lord Giles abandoned his orphaned sister?" Incredulous, Lindsay found it impossible to imagine Jared doing such a terrible thing.

  Aunt Winifred poured a generous amount of cream into her tea and began to stir furiously.

  "He did," she replied, "but thankfully, the girl had her uncle to care for her—at least until Alistair passed away quite suddenly, no doubt of grief and despair at his nephew's cruelty. That left the wretched girl alone in the world, well, alone but for Alistair's mistress—hmm, I've forgotten her name, Sally, Susan, ah, no matter. And her son became master of Dovercourt Manor when he married Elise a short time later."

  "Dovercourt Manor . . . ?"

  "Yes, the ancestral home in West Sussex, near Seaford. I know little else save that Elise died shortly after her brother's unexpected return, and it's rumored the poor dear's husband—oh, yes, Potter was his surname—treated her most abominably, for which that scoundrel Jared Giles has no one but himself to blame!"

  "But, Aunt Winnie, you told me yourself Lord Giles is a spy and therefore highly trusted—"

  "Yes, and it's a travesty, too, that affairs of a baser nature have no bearing upon affairs of state, even when such notoriety so bespeaks a lack of character—oh, my, Lindsay, enough, enough! How did we ever begin such a distasteful topic? I feel a sudden pain in my head. Where's Matilda?"

  Her own thoughts spinning, Lindsay rose from her chair to open one of the tall windows in the sunny drawing room.

  "No, no, dear, fetch Matilda, will you? And be quick! Oh, dear, my head is pounding."

  As Primrose and Ignatius began to whine and whimper at Aunt Winifred's feet, clearly sensing her distress, Lindsay raced from the drawing room.

  Now her head was aching and she almost wished she hadn't mentioned Alistair Giles. How would Jared ever favorably press his suit for her hand when her aunt thought so little of him? Of course, it wasn't Aunt Winifred's decision, but her father's, and Lindsay imagined Olympia would demand her say. That might mean two negative votes raised against one—oh, Lord . . .

  "Matilda!"

  Lindsay stopped her flight on the third step, relieved to see the Scotswoman hurrying down the stairs with smelling salts already in hand.

  "Ye don't have to tell me, lass, I can hear it in yer voice. Sensed it in my bones, too—after serving the same mistress for twenty-five years, I always know when she needs me. The drawing room?"

  Lindsay nodded, sinking with a sigh onto the step as Matilda bustled past her and disappeared around the corner.

  She had only wanted to somehow prepare Aunt Winifred for tomorrow, and now she'd simply made matters worse. If Jared even approached the front door, she imagined the poor woman would be thrown into such a nervous frenzy that a physician might have to be called, either that or Aunt Winifred might go so far as to summon a constable to remove him. There had to be some way she could warn Jared. The last thing she wanted was for his proposal of marriage to be tossed back into his face!

  Lindsay rose to her feet. It was only a few hours until dark. She could try to find him then, yet she had promised no sneaking from the house, no excursions into the city at night.

  Lindsay sank back onto the stair with a sigh of pure frustration, but she started when she felt a light hand upon her shoulder.

  "Anything wrong, miss?"

  She glanced up, shaking her head at Gladys, a pretty young chambermaid who was very close to her own age. "No, no, I'm—" She stopped, looking at Gladys as if seeing her for the first time. Of course!

  "Gladys, I need you to accompany me."

  "B-but I'm not finished dusting yet, miss—"

  "Oh, please, Gladys, the dusting can wait. I need you right now as my chaperone—it's very important!"

  Lindsay grabbed the young woman's hand without another word and drew her down the stairs and toward the back of the house, imagining Matilda would be kept busy with her aunt for the rest of the afternoon. She hoped Aunt Winifred would need to lie down until supper, which would be even better; Matilda always attended to mending then and Lindsay wouldn't be missed.

  Gladys's hazel eyes were round as saucers when Lindsay pulled her out the back door into the tidy garden, the perfumed scent of spring flowers heavy in the air. But Lindsay scarcely noticed them, not even her favorite bluebells brushing against her skirt, as she urged the chambermaid to hurry.

  "Where are we going, miss?" Gladys asked when they entered the Penney stable, the young woman skipping to one side as Lindsay set to work hitching a docile bay gelding to a light two-wheeled carriage, since no grooms or Benjamin the coachman was there to help them.

  Not that Lindsay needed any assistance; she'd learned many practical things from Corisande, who was nothing if not resourceful. "Don't worry, Gladys, we won't be gone very long."

  A few breathless moments later, they were heading out the alley and onto the busy boulevard, Lindsay glad for the leather hood which would offer them protection from the brilliant April sunshine and curious glances. She was so intent upon maneuvering the carriage through the bustle of afternoon traffic that it wasn't until she had turned off Piccadilly that she realized she had no clear idea as to the Boar's Head's address. But she supposed when they drew closer to Covent Garden she could ask for directions if need be.

  Truly, she felt exhilarated by her sense of freedom, and it was evident from the pink bloom on Gladys's cheeks that the chambermaid was beginning to enjoy their little adventure as well. And it was broad daylight and she hadn't exactly sneaked away from the house—Lindsay had broken no promise there.

  All she wanted to do was tell Jared, or leave him a note if he wasn't at the tavern, that they must think of another course, rather than meeting first with her aunt; perhaps a letter to her father or even a journey themselves—with proper chaperones, of course—to Porthleven. It was all so exciting, yet she felt a slight shadow over her joy.

  Aunt Winifred's recollection of events in Jared's family had been quite sobering, but Lindsay didn't doubt for a moment that he must have had good reason to return to India and leave his younger sister, Elise. She resolved to ask him, too, but right now that wasn't the first of her concerns, as finding the Boar's Head was forefront in her mind.

  Nearly a half hour had passed before she decided to stop and have Gladys run into a millinery shop to ask directions. To her relief, they were very close, Lindsay's heart beating harder when she saw the familiar tavern ahead at the next corner. A vivid memory of Jared pulling her against him in his room to kiss her made her blush and smile, her fingers trembling slightly at the reins.

  "Miss Somerset, mayhap I should go inside for you," Gladys suggested quietly as Lindsay drew the cabriolet to a stop. The young woman looked uncertainly toward t
he tavern, then back at her mistress. " 'Tis no matter for me, a workin' girl, but a lady like yourself—"

  "I'll be fine, Gladys, truly."

  Yet Lindsay wished she had her dark cloak, her pale lilac-colored gown and matching pelisse offering no anonymity at all as she entered the tavern, its interior looking so much brighter with sunlight streaming through the small paned windows. Fortunately, the place had only a few more patrons than it had had the other night, though they all turned to stare at her wide-eyed, as if she were some unlikely apparition.

  She supposed she was, Lindsay thought uncomfortably, her gaze skipping from the table she and Jared had shared to where Della burst from the kitchen with a platter of sizzling sausages in one hand and a huge mug of ale in the other. A platter that nearly toppled to the floor, three sausages flying into the air, when the woman stopped abruptly to stare at her.

  "Wot in heaven's name? Aren't you the same—"

  "Yes, and I won't keep you." Lindsay glanced around to see that the patrons were watching with blatant interest, so she lowered her voice to a near whisper. "I've come to see Lord Giles—Jared. Is he—?"

  "Here, miss? No, and wot a pity. I'm sure he'd be sorry to have missed you, but he left this early morn."

  "Oh. Then I'd like to leave him a note, if I may."

  "Aye, you may, but you'd best leave a shilling to post your little note as well. He's gone from London, far as I can tell. Paid his bill and took 'imself off—said he'd return in a few months or so."

  Stunned, Lindsay could only stare as Della bent down under a chair and plopped the errant sausages back onto the platter.

  "Damned slippery things . . . ouch! Hot, too."

  As Della rose and faced her, the woman's smile curiously mocking, Lindsay somehow found her voice. "Did . . . did you say a few months?"

  "Aye, and Lord knows I'll miss 'im. From the looks of it, so will you."

  Her heart thundering in her ears, Lindsay tried to swallow the huge lump building in her throat. "Do you have any idea where. . ." She faltered, tears misting her eyes. "I have to find—"