A Convenient Engagement

by Kimberly Bell

  Chapter 8

  Hannah stretched in the patch of sun that moved across her eyes and smiled at the memory of the previous day. It had ended up being a delightful evening despite Rhone’s collapse and subsequent dramatics. Before dinner, the earl and his cousin entertained the ladies with Scottish anecdotes. After, they all taught Hannah how to play pharo. She couldn’t remember a time when she had more fun.

  Her pleasant recollection was interrupted by Betsy entering the chamber in a flurry of excitement. The maid was carrying an armful of boxes ranging from very large to very small.

  “Good morning, miss,” Betsy said around the top box with barely contained anticipation.

  “What on earth is that?”

  “It came for you just now. It’s from the earl!” The second part was practically a squeak as she laid the presents on top of the coverlet.

  The maid’s demeanor was contagious, and Hannah scrambled out of bed to get a better look. While she was expecting two more presents from Rhone, the larger boxes were entirely the wrong size for jewelry. She realized it was silly to stand around wondering what it could be, when she could just look. She lifted the lid off the largest box and discovered a sea of white fabric. As she removed it from the box, Hannah realized it was a riding habit.

  She held up a jacket in a close-cut military style with band collar. The lace fall, turned-back cuffs, and epaulettes were gold like the double row of buttons on the front. The rest was a startling white-on-white brocade. Hannah moved the jacket into the sunlight, and the paisley embroidery glinted. White brocade made up the skirt and its enormous train, broken only slightly by panels of light gold fabric that became visible as she swished the skirt side to side.

  In full bemusement, Hannah opened the next box. Stark white heeled riding boots joined the skirt and jacket on the bed. Another box produced butter soft kid gloves that continued the white theme. A large round box added a white tricorn hat with gold piping and a mass of gold and white feathers to the pile. It was the smallest box, opened last, that took Hannah’s breath away. The delicate gold filigree work of the brooch was completely overshadowed by the enormous pink sapphire in the center. It was the size of a robin’s egg, for goodness’ sake!

  What the devil was Rhone up to? The color was hardly practical for riding. The thought instantly brought a smile to her face. It certainly wasn’t serviceable gray or brown.

  “It will be the devil to keep clean,” she cautioned Betsy, who was sighing covetously.

  “I won’t mind a bit, miss. Please say you’ll wear it!” Betsy said without taking her eyes off the array laid out on the bed. “Oh! It came with a note.”

  She reached into her pocket and handed over a folded parchment.

  Dearest H.,

  With my compliments.

  Sincerely,

  G.

  P.S. Please put it on and come outside with all haste.

  “Apparently, I am meant to wear it immediately,” Hannah relayed with a raised eyebrow.

  Betsy squealed with delight and set to work. In a record twenty minutes, she was dressed with her hair artfully arranged in loose curls down her back. She pinned the brooch carefully at her neck and stood up. Betsy helped her gather the end of the train over one arm and stepped back to admire the effect.

  “Lawks, Miss Hannah. You look radiant,” she said reverently. Hannah took one last look at herself in the mirror and headed for the stairs.

  * * *

  Gavan stood on the pavement in front of Number Fourteen and waited for Hannah to say something. If her reaction to the chaise was anything close to his reaction when she had stepped out of the town house, Ewan was going to eat that bonnet whole. His imagination had not come close to doing her justice. She was a vision in white and gold.

  At the five-minute mark, she opened her mouth to speak then closed it again.

  “Well, lass. What do ye think?” his cousin asked.

  “Don’t rush her. True works of art must be savored,” he said tersely. It wasn’t just that he wanted to win his bet with Ewan. He wanted her to love it, for her own sake.

  “It’s . . .” She paused again, staring wide-eyed at the chaise. Gavan turned to look at it himself, trying to be objective. The overcast morning made the perusal much easier.

  The two wheels and springed frame were highly polished gold. The smith had assured Ewan it was sturdy steel underneath the plating, but the effect was the same as if it were solid. The sides were gleaming white lacquer, with inlays constructed from mother of pearl and glinting crystal. The intricacies of the floral designs were truly marvelous, even if one didn’t know the man who had painstakingly set them into the wood. The whole thing was finished off with a bright pink velvet interior and pink leather hood.

  As the cherry on top, Bailey had been able to secure a pair of lithe, snow-white Lipizzaner stallions. They stood with calm dignity in front of the chaise. Gavan was sure she wouldn’t thank him for the comparison, but the small stature and alert intelligence of the breed put him in mind of his fiancée. If nothing else, he suspected Hannah would find great pleasure in her new team.

  Her hand reached out and stroked the detail on the side paneling. She moved her way forward, running her fingers across the gold and crystal beads woven into the snow-white manes, talking softly to the horses.

  “It’s certainly extravagant,” Bailey’s aunt offered helpfully.

  “I daresay it will be the talk of the town,” the younger Bailey woman added through squinted eyes as the sun peeked through the clouds. It was clear Miss Bailey would have preferred a more traditional plain black conveyance.

  “It’s like something out of a story,” Hannah said reverently as the stray beam illuminated the carriage majestically. He heard Ewan groan in defeat behind him. Gavan’s fiancée turned with an enormous smile. “May I take it out?”

  “Of course.” He barely resisted smirking at Ewan as he handed her up into the vehicle.

  “Will you come with me?” she asked down to him. The feathers in her tricorn bounced energetically. He stepped close.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take Miss Bailey?” Gavan asked generously from the ground. With the color in her cheeks and giddy mood obviously rising, he wasn’t sure he could be trusted in such close proximity to her. He had his new resolution to think of.

  Hannah leaned down until she was inches away from his upturned face.

  “I don’t think she likes it,” she whispered. “Also, I don’t know how to drive it. I need you to teach me.”

  He raised both eyebrows, and she grinned at him impishly. The minx had asked him for a vehicle, and she didn’t even know how to drive? Well, he could hardly disappoint her. That would be the height of caddish behavior, and certainly ranked higher than the minor risk that he would ravish her senseless on the velvet seat. Gavan turned to his cousin and the Bailey women.

  “Ladies. Conquered Scotsmen. If you will excuse us, we must introduce this masterpiece to the world.” He sketched a formal bow and turned back to the chaise. “Shove over, woman. I’m coming up.”

  As he ascended, he noticed the crowd of onlookers gathered on the opposite side of the square. A few of the ladies had looks of disapproval, but far more were openly covetous. Hannah cut quite the figure perched atop the seat all in white.

  * * *

  Hannah took a deep breath and looked down at the leather strips in her hand. Rhone had navigated west out of St. James’s Square through the fashionable neighborhoods toward the outskirts of town. He had driven slowly, giving passersby ample time to take in the sight of the carriage and its occupants. Each time he changed speed or adjusted course, he explained what he was doing and why. Hannah was surprised to discover that he was a patient and thorough instructor. When he stopped just outside the city and handed over the reins, she felt cautiously optimistic.

  “You’re certain there wo
n’t be traffic?” They had stopped short of a sharp curve, and she could only see a few yards ahead before the lane turned.

  “This road is rarely used,” he assured her.

  She inhaled again and arranged the ribbons between her fingers the way Rhone showed her. A light tap with the whip, and they jostled into a slow walk. The breeze kicked up, skidding clouds across the sky, making it feel like they were moving much faster than they were. Hannah shared a giddy smile with him before giving her attention to the upcoming corner. He talked her through the gentle turn, and they made it to a long, open stretch without incident.

  “Every Englishman for twenty miles would hang me if they knew I gave one Lipizzaner to a novice, never mind a matched pair,” he said.

  “Should I not be driving them? I don’t want to ruin them.” Her panic translated to the horses, and they picked up speed from a walk to a trot.

  “Calm yourself. You’re far too intelligent to do them any actual harm.” She relaxed but let the horses continue at a trot. She told herself the rush of pleasure she felt was from the increased speed and not his inadvertent compliment.

  “The riding habit was a nice surprise,” she said for lack of a better subject. The sheer normalcy of going for a quiet drive with him, compared to their previous interactions, left her unsure how to behave.

  “I had it done in pink and gold as well, but the white was finished first,” he said as he lazily propped his boots up on the foot rail.

  Hannah had to take her eyes off the road to tell if he was being serious. “There are more like this one?”

  Avarice warred with Hannah’s sense of independence.

  “Of course. You’ll be the talk of the town. You’ll need the variety to keep the ladies drooling with envy.”

  The habit was magnificent, and the idea of owning more of them made Hannah giddy, but it would not do for him to think he could decide how she dressed. She was about to tell him so, when a crack of thunder stole all sound and the sky unleashed a sudden downpour. The horses were trained well enough not to bolt outright, but they did lurch alarmingly. Rhone hastily erected the chaise’s pink hood while Hannah directed them down a smaller side track and pulled off under a grove of trees. The road was rapidly resembling a river as the deluge gained momentum over the ruts in the pathway, but at least the combination of the hood and the leaf cover kept them relatively dry. Another boom of thunder sounded, and the team jolted in their traces.

  “Should we unhitch them?” Hannah started maneuvering down from the chaise. She would never forgive herself if the horses were injured due to her lack of experience.

  “What? No. What are you doing?” Rhone stood up and reached to pull her back into the vehicle.

  The shift in weight caused her boot to miss its footing and become tangled in the voluminous train of her riding habit. She toppled over the side, landing on her backside with an unceremonious squelch. Her hat sat pathetically next to her, feathers down in the mud. She stayed that way, stunned and sopping, and heard a string of curses travel down and around the opposite side of the chaise. Her shock had worn off by the time Rhone waded his way to her location.

  “Do you ever just have a normal day?” she accused, stripping off her ruined gloves. Once again she found herself in a ridiculous circumstance that would never have occurred without his interference.

  “Surely you’re not trying to blame me for this?” He stopped in front of her, a picture of offended dignity.

  “I do blame you. I am perfectly capable of exiting a vehicle without your assistance.” Her tone and temper were rising in equal degrees.

  “That remains to be proven,” he said arrogantly. The pointed look he gave her mud-covered skirt was too much.

  The day had held such beauty and promise, and now she was soggy and covered in muck. Hannah wanted to scream. She wanted to call him terrible things. She wanted to shout at him until her voice gave out. She clenched her fists, and they closed around a handful of mud. Before Rhone could realize what was about to happen, she drew her arm back and threw.

  * * *

  Sheer surprise kept Gavan’s face impassive as the mud slid down his cheek and onto his neck.

  The fool woman was blaming him, either for the weather or her own idiotic decision to climb down from the chaise, despite knowing absolutely nothing about unhitching a team of horses. Any sane person would have stayed in the vehicle and waited out the rain, but not his rabid fiancée. She had to go clambering around in a torrential downpour, and then literally sling mud at him when the results were not to her satisfaction.

  Gavan very calmly removed his coat and waistcoat, laying them on the bench inside the chaise. With equally even temper, he unhooked his cuff links and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his forearms. Hannah watched him with wide-eyed silence from the ground. When he reached down and filled both his hands with sludge, she scrambled backward.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she said, scooting until she came in contact with a tree trunk.

  “Oh, I dare,” he said as he stepped forward.

  A clap of thunder sounded with immense volume, followed almost immediately by lightning striking a tall tree a few yards away. The unattended horses took their opportunity and bolted down the road like they were being chased by the devil himself.

  Gavan turned in disbelief and lost his footing on the slippery turf. After two dexterous pirouettes, he crashed facedown into the muck next to Hannah. The horses were long gone, so rather than stand, he just pushed himself into a sitting position against the tree trunk. Gavan’s silent contemplation of his life in the week since he had met Hannah Howard was interrupted by a strangled gasping sound. His initial assumption that she had burst into sobs was replaced with something much more insidious.

  “Are you laughing?” His fiancée was a lunatic.

  She clapped a muddy hand over her mouth and shook her head violently. She was also, apparently, a liar. He raised an imperious eyebrow.

  She made a weak attempt to get herself back under control. “Your face. And the . . .” She gestured with her hands when she lost herself to laughter again, imitating the motion of his acrobatic journey into the muck.

  He nodded to himself quietly and adjusted the muddied edge of his rolled sleeve.

  Her mirth was abruptly interrupted by a great quantity of mud landing in her hair. When it slid down the side of her face and landed on her shoulder with a plop, he smiled.

  “You’re right. That is quite . . .” He was going to say humorous, but her retaliatory strike cut him off. He spit out a gritty mouthful, complete with a twig.

  “Isn’t it, though?” she said, smiling back.

  Gavan would see who had the last laugh. He lunged for her, and they toppled back into the rising water. Hannah shrieked and laughed, all the while assaulting him with fistfuls of muddy sludge. He was losing the battle against her flurry of attacks and decided to change tactics. Pinning her arms to her sides, he rolled them uphill into the stand of trees where the rain had barely touched the ground.

  “You’re out of ammunition,” he observed as she grasped and came up empty.

  She relaxed beneath him, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re out of clean skin,” she replied.

  He could think of a few places she hadn’t yet slathered but tactfully chose not to mention them. The thought must have struck her as well, because a pink flush crept up the few parts of her face still free of mud. He rolled again, settling her on top of him, and released his hold.

  “You have a smudge,” he said, rubbing his thumb across her cheekbone. “Right there.”

  “Just there?” she asked, her eyes bright.

  “Maybe here as well.” He ran his other thumb across the indent of her chin.

  * * *

  Hannah held her breath as his thumb whispered against the edge of her bottom lip. Her mouth tingled with anticipation. She thought he w
ould kiss her, but then he propped his arm behind his head and steered their banter back to lighter territory. His chipper musings about the heart palpitations someone named Bennett would have over the state of his clothing faded to the background as she pondered her situation.

  The kiss in her hallway had been so sudden. One moment, she had been on the verge of tears, and the next she had been pressed between his body and the wainscoting, all of her senses overwhelmed by his nearness. She wanted to recreate the experience, but she wasn’t certain how to go about it.

  The opportunity was certainly still there. She was lying on top of him in a deserted field, for goodness’ sake. They were both soaked to the bone, and his sodden linen shirt was more revealing than concealing. The definition of his arms and chest was plainly visible. His tendencies toward excess and indolence were clearly being combated by some unknown activity that kept him lean and well muscled. There was nothing soft about him, even with layers of petticoats serving as a buffer.

  She reached her arm out and ran her fingers over the corded firmness of his bicep. His monologue stopped abruptly. She gathered up her courage and moved her hand over the flat plane of his chest.

  “Hannah, what are you doing?” His voice was strained, but he did not move to stop her.

  She let her wandering palm slip inside the neck of his shirt and felt the burning warmth of his skin. “I would like you to kiss me again,” she confessed, not meeting his eyes.

  “That’s not wise.”

  Strained gave way to strangled as she ran an inquisitive thumb across his rigid nipple.

  “Why not?” Being able to affect him the way he affected her was a heady experience.

  “I’m trying to behave honorably,” he explained.

  “You smashed mud into my hair.” Hannah might not be very experienced, but she knew that did not qualify as honorable behavior.

  “Fair point,” he said. Then he pulled her mouth down to his own.