Her eyes widened. “It doesn’t?”
He gritted his teeth. "I’m fairly close to boxing your ears, Cecelia. No, it doesn’t.”
“I’m bored.”
“You’re bored,” he said. “And if you get found out, you’re also in big trouble.”
She frowned as if the thought had never occurred to her. “You won’t tell on me, will you?”
“No, but I won’t lie if I’m asked.”
She nodded her head and said, “That seems fair enough.” She picked a few more daisies began looping the stems and interlocking the stems to create a chain. Several moments passed before she broke their silence. “Tell me something… Why have you stayed away? I can’t remember the last time you were at Bryony Hall.”
“My business keeps me in London.”
“But we’re not terribly far from London.”
“I’ve been here,” he said shortly. “You weren’t here at the same time. You’ve spent the last few Christmas’s in Mayfair.”
“Oh.” Cecelia fell quiet and resumed weaving her chain of wildflowers, though whether she had accepted his explanation or simply accepted his reluctance to talk about it, he didn’t know.
Fascinated, he couldn’t help but watch as she concentrated on looping and weaving the stems. She wasn’t doing a thing to tempt him. Not intentionally. But he was finding her fresh faced innocence immensely engaging. And when she looked up at him and smiled he simply smiled back, instead of looking away and pretending he hadn’t been caught staring.
Suddenly she laughed. “You’re not having any success at all are you? Maybe you’ve lost your touch.”
He hadn’t a clue as to what she was talking about. “At what?”
“Fishing.”
He did his best to look mortally offended. “Impossible.”
She held up the chain to examine her handiwork. “Do you remember when you and Eugene took me fishing and I caught more fish than both of you put together? The two of you were very put out with me, but I had the grandest time.”
“Beginners luck.”
She shook her head. “Superior skill.”
“At age six?” he queried.
“Yes, at age six. And I’ve improved.”
“Have you now?” He nodded at the fishing pole. “By all means, have a go at it.”
“I can’t do any worse than you,” she said. “You haven’t been paying the slightest bit of attention to what you’re doing. A whale could be nibbling on your line right now and you wouldn’t even know it.”
“There are no whales in this stream,”
She rose, brushed her skirts off and came towards him. “Let me show you how it’s done, my lord.”
“Aren’t we confident?”
“Yes, we are.” She took the rod from him and with an air of proficiency, recast the line. “You will be having fish for dinner.”
“And you,” he retorted. “Will be having crow.”
“I think not.”
He had to admit that she looked very competent with a fishing rod in her hand, and he wasn’t at all certain that she wouldn’t catch a good sized fish. The idea of being bested by a young lady was not to his liking, and he knelt down and began rummaging loudly through the basket his cook had prepared. “Would you care for anything?” he called out. “Anton has packed pears, cheese, a loaf of bread and some wine.”
“No, thank you. As you can see, my hands are full at the moment.”
“The pears are excellent.”
“No, thank you.”
“I can offer you apple tarts or raisin scones,” he continued.
“No, thank you,” she repeated a little louder.
“Roast pheasant or a suckling pig?”
“There isn’t any roast pheasant or suckling pig in that basket,” she answered. “Now, quit trying to distract me. If I don’t concentrate, I won’t feel that first nibble and if I don’t feel that first nibble, I won’t catch any fish and I won’t win our wager.”
Rand was beginning to wonder if the fresh air had addled his brain. He didn’t remember making a wager. “Do we have a wager?”
“Not exactly,” she admitted. “It was an implied wager, rather than spoken. I’m betting that I can catch a larger fish than you can. Now, how big was the largest fish you threw back? One inch?” she said mischievously. “Maybe two? Or did you catch any?”
He returned the items to the basket and stood up. “Nothing worth mentioning,” he said evasively. "I believe this is simply a bad spot. I should have gone further upstream.”
“Men always make excuses.”
He chuckled. “Back to this wager of ours. A wager isn’t really a proper wager, unless something is at stake. There must be a prize, otherwise, what’s the point?”
“Well, you would know that better than I would. My experience at wagering is minimal. Mmm.” She wrinkled her brow as she thought. “I’ve got it! If I win, you must clean and cook the fish here, over a campfire, with whatever means you have at hand.”
Easy enough. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before, though she had no way of knowing that. “Agreed,” he said. “But if you lose?”
“I won’t.” She offered a smug smile.
He shook his head. “No stake. No wager.”
“Then, you decide if you must, but it won’t matter because…” She bit her lip in concentration as she gave a quick tug on the rod. It bent with the weight of its prey as she slowly began to back up. “Get the net!” A large flash of silver caught the sun, as a good sized trout leapt from the water and then disappeared with barely a splash.
Wearing an expression of sheer delight she cried, “Oh, brilliant! I’ve got him good!” He caught his breath at the vision before him. She was positively glowing with
happiness and he thought he had never seen anyone quite so lovely. Her cheeks were a dusty pink; her green eyes glittered with excitement. She was liquid sunshine and joy and her innocence was enough to bring him to his knees. And had he not forced himself to look down, he would have never seen the fallen log directly behind her as she backed up. He closed the distance between them in a fraction of a second, catching her by the waist as she stumbled. She fell against him with a jolt, her hands flung out for balance and the rod landed in the water only to be pulled downstream. There was silence as they watched it disappear.
"I lost,” she said breathlessly.
His arms were still wrapped around her slim waist, one hand precariously close to her breast. He made no attempt to release her and she made no attempt to move away. Holding her in his arms seemed the most natural thing in the world. It was a very comfortable fit. Without thinking he reached up, tugged on the ribbons of her bonnet, plucked it off her head and dropped it to the ground. In the sunlight her hair gleamed like burnished copper. It was barely tamed, loose waves escaping from her untidy coiffure. Closing his eyes he rubbed his cheek against it. She smelled of rose water and lemons and sunshine. He wanted to take the pins out and run his fingers through her hair.
“I lost,” she repeated softly. “Name your prize.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Or maybe the right thing. He didn’t know which. All he knew was that if he didn’t kiss her he would probably expire on the spot. He turned her around and cupping her chin with the palm of his hand he tilted her face up. Her lips were slightly parted, her emerald eyes wide with expectation. She moistened her bottom lip with her tongue. It was an artless gesture but it was his final undoing and he lowered his lips to hers. He kissed her tenderly at first, caressing her lips with his own. She was, after all a virgin. But she was an enthusiastic virgin and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Not with any degree of experience, but with great eagerness. She pressed her body up against his and he lost what little self-control he had left. One hand went to the back of her head, his fingers threaded through the mass of bright curly hair. The other went to the curve of her bottom, pressing her up against his groin. His tongue filled her mouth tasting her sweet
ness and she immediately responded in kind without the slightest hesitation. She was sweet and innocent, but so passionate. The combination was irresistible. It occurred to him that he had never kissed a virgin before. Not really. Not like this. A virgin. Your best friend’s little sister, you idiot! With a curse he pulled back and looked away. But not before she saw the look of regret in his eyes.
Resting her hand against his cheek she said, “Please, don’t feel guilty. Please.”
He gazed at her, then opened his mouth to speak, but she wouldn’t let him. “No, don’t say anything. It was my first real kiss. You’ll only spoil it if you say anything.”
He wanted to argue, but all he did was nod and say, “We’ll talk later then.” The truth was, he was so stunned by what had happened that he didn’t have any idea what to say.
She smiled and scooped up her bonnet. He helped her mount the mare and then watched as she cantered off in the direction of the bridge. He picked up the flagon of wine and took a long swallow. Damn! What was he thinking kissing a virginal eighteen year old chit? Particularly this eighteen chit. It was as if he couldn’t help himself. Even worse, she had enjoyed it every bit as much as he had. She had been unskilled but exceedingly eager. Suddenly tired, he rubbed his eyes. This was all wrong. His life had taken a bizarre turn and he didn’t know what in the hell to do about it. If he had any sense at all he would leave tomorrow and not return until one of them had married.
Chapter Three
He was a dolt; he berated himself the following afternoon. He hadn’t the sense God gave a moron. Not only hadn’t he left Surrey, but he had spent the past hour in the same spot sitting on the ground pretending to be fishing, while waiting to see if Cecelia would return. He knew it was best that she didn’t, but he told himself he needed to talk to her; to straighten out what had happened yesterday and make certain it wouldn’t happen again. It was only a kiss. A fairly passionate kiss, but just a kiss. No one had seen them. No harm had been done. She wasn’t making any demands on him because of it. It fact, she was extraordinarily level headed about the whole incident. Which, truth be told was a little insulting. Not at all what he was used to, but for some reason she had gotten under his skin. He’d barely slept the night before, thinking about her, wondering what if would feel like to have her in his bed, her slim body beneath him, her long legs wrapped around his waist... You’re an idiot, he chided himself. A bleeding idiot wanting something so far out his reach that it didn’t merit considering.
And it was doubtful she would be here today. A bank of angry black clouds had gathered in the west and it would be foolish for her to ride this distance with a storm brewing. She was most likely at Reston, reading some insipid gothic novel to Lady Fitzberry. But he wanted to see her. He didn’t need to kiss her, this time. He just wanted to see her sitting atop her chestnut mare, her eyes bright, stray copper colored curls caressing her neck in the breeze. It was extraordinary how just looking at her made him feel good. And he had brought luncheon. Wine, cheese, fruit, cold chicken, a loaf of bread, four kinds of pastries. He was an idiot to get his hopes up. She wasn’t foolish enough to chance it; though whether he meant chance the weather or his company, he wasn’t certain. Cecelia could be impulsive, but she wasn’t stupid. Sighing, he pulled the fishing line from the water and packed his supplies away. He checked his watch and after making the decision to wait another fifteen minutes and not one minute more, he sat down beneath a tree, closed his eyes and surprisingly, promptly dozed off…
Something nudged his foot. “Did you bring a pole for me?” The feminine voice sounded far off and not quite real. A dream perhaps? He opened an eye to see her standing over him, hands on her hips, her tilted emerald eyes glowing with humor. This was no dream. She appeared to have crossed at the bridge this time, as her boots and skirt were quite dry. Her royal blue riding habit was trimmed in gold braid and she wore a matching blue riding hat dressed with three red feathers that curled down toward her face. She looked amazing.
“Did you bring a pole for me?” she repeated.
Too many bawdy thoughts raced through his mind for him to ignore and he began laughing.
“What are you laughing about?”
Still laughing, he stood. “You don’t want to know. Now, what on earth are you doing here?” Glancing up at the skies which had darkened considerably while he slept, he added, “The heavens are looking fairly ominous. You shouldn’t be this far from home.”
She shrugged off his statement. “A little water never hurt anyone. I’m foraging for food. I haven’t eaten for hours.”
He smiled. “That, I can help you with. What would you like?”
“Have you any biscuits?”
“Will pastries do?”
“Wonderful.” She sat on the quilt and arranged her skirts around her as he set four pastries on a small plate and handed them to her along with a white linen napkin. “Thank you, kind sir.”
“Wine, my lady?”
“Please.” He filled two glasses and set one next to her.
She reached for a lemon pastry. “I’ve such a weakness for sweets. Miss Thornton, our headmistress, said I should only take a bite or two and then leave the rest on my plate. But I don’t see the sense in that, do you?”
He shook his head and smiled. “No, I can’t say that I do.”
She finished her pastry and took a sip of her wine. “I’ll probably get caught in the rain, but it was such a perfect chance to escape. Aunt Mirabella had company all morning and she chose to nap this afternoon, rather than be read to. And we’ve a number of new servants as well and that always seems to cause untold confusion. And Biggs’s wife has reached her time and he’s not paying a bit of attention to the stables. Everyone was frightfully preoccupied and I was able to leave without being overly specific as to where I was headed.”
He narrowed his eyes at her and groaned. “You definitely need a leash, my girl. And as soon as possible. When is the illustrious Mrs. Weathers scheduled to appear?”
Her expression brightened. “Oh, I’ve the best news! She has gout!”
He fought to keep his laughter at bay and failed. “What a brash young lady you’ve become. What has happened to the well mannered Lady Cecelia who charmed the matrons of Almachs? We must find you a companion before all is lost.”
“It’s been near impossible. Mrs. Elliot’s brother is ill and she won’t leave his side until he’s fully recovered. Miss Hearn has left for a post in Cornwall. Mrs. Saunders can’t come for another three weeks. Mrs. Callahan is afraid of dogs, even little bitty ones like Aunt’s terriers.”
"I don’t think it’s the size of them. I think it’s the quantity.”
“At least, Aunt Mirabella stopped at an even dozen, though with Athena breeding... Thankfully, Aunt doesn’t mean to keep any of the pups. She plans to give them all away.”
He was surprised. “Not a single one?”
“I think she believes thirteen might bring bad luck.”
“Bad luck,” he hooted. “Correct me if I’m wrong but it seems they’ve already created more than their share of bad luck. Weren’t they the culprits behind several injuries when a stable hand and your head gardener tripped over them during a mongrel melee in the back garden in Mayfair? They ate the furniture in Stratton’s office, demolished several of your hats, tore up your neighbor’s tulip beds, ruined the Aubusson rugs in the dining room and now Lady Fitzberry has fallen over one and sprained her ankle.”
“Well, I suppose if you look at it that way.” Then she laughed. “Do you remember that awful pink headdress that Aunt Mirabella had?” “The contraption that looked as if she were wearing a flamingo on her head?”
She grinned and nodded. “Hercules and Adonis tore it to bits.”
“But that would be considered good luck, wouldn’t it? That hat was a monstrosity.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” she retorted. “He wouldn’t admit it but I’m fairly certain Eugene gave it to them. We had to do something. At first, we pr
etended that feathers made me sneeze just to keep her from wearing it, but it was dreadfully inconvenient having to sneeze every time I was in the vicinity of a feather.” She tugged at her hat. “As you can see, now that the wretched flamingo headdress has been eliminated, I am no longer sensitive.”
“A miracle, indeed,” he murmured. He looked at her a minute and then said, “Cecelia, we need to talk about what happened yesterday. Kissing you… I won’t apologize if you don’t want me to, but it was a mistake on my part. A big mistake. I feel very bad about it. I won’t let it happen again.”
She chewed on her lip a moment. “But, I don’t want you to feel bad about it. No one saw us and to be truthful, I quite liked it. I’ve never been kissed like that before. It made me feel as if... As if something wonderful was about to happen.”
Her honesty tore at him. He sighed. “My reputation isn’t the best, brat. And to be seen kissing me would ruin yours. That’s the last thing I want for you.”
Frowning, she stared at him. “Was kissing me so unpleasant?” His mouth fell open with astonishment. “Good God, no! What makes you ask that?”
“Because you obviously didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought you did. I would imagine most men want someone like Priscilla. She’s beautiful.”
“She is,” he conceded. “But a woman doesn’t need to be blond, blue-eyed and petite to be beautiful. Life would be very boring if all women looked alike. You’re a beautiful young woman and when you’re not falling over logs or hurdling down the steps, you’re one of the most graceful women I’ve ever met.” He reached across and tilted her face up with a finger tip. “I didn’t stop kissing you because I wanted to.” He allowed his hand to fall to his side. “I was afraid that if I didn’t stop, I wouldn’t be able to,” he paused, “stop.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Thank you. I would hate it if you thought it unpleasant.” A gust of wind caught an errant lock of hair. She pushed it away from her face.
He was struck again by her innocence. “I only speak the truth but it’s not something we can repeat.” He was interrupted as lightning split the sky and thunder rumbled loudly in the background. An angry blast of wind rattled the leaves on the trees and the air had suddenly grown cold. The storm had blown in more quickly than he had anticipated and he was stuck with the decision of taking her home or seeking shelter. “It looks as if the sky is about to open up. Throw everything in the basket,” he directed. “I’ll get the horses before they break loose and bolt." By the time they were in their saddles, the decision had been made for them. It was obvious they needed to seek immediate shelter. Both horses were nervously snorting and stomping at the earth, and the sky had taken on a greenish tint. The storm would not be a mild one. He had to shout over gusting wind. “Our hunting lodge isn’t far. We’ll stay there until this blows over.”
The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) Page 5