“I must beg your indulgence for a few more days. Miss Bliss Worthington and I must make our way back to London at once—and we cannot do this alone.”
His eyes widened, and she saw him swallow. “I—It’s—” His gaze darted back and forth from her to the road he’d been mere seconds from gaining. “But—”
Urgency made Elektra’s patience slip ever so slightly awry. “Well, you cannot very well leave two ladies alone! It would—it would be—irresponsible!”
Well, perhaps that was going a bit far, as evidenced by his sudden flush of fury. “Irresponsible? Me, the irresponsible one?” He released the saddle and turned fully upon her. “You and your criminal brother think you can do anything you like—with no thought for the consequences! You don’t care who y’hurt!”
Stung, Elektra lifted her chin. “I am not a criminal! I am a Worthington!”
“What’s the difference, eh?”
She gaped at him, her face flushed with fury.
Aaron couldn’t hold it back any longer. He was bloody tired from his night in the ruin—and he was still reeling from the jolt of seeing Miss Elektra Worthington all washed up, in a fetching little frock that made a man want to fall on his knees and beg. “Because from where I stand, the two o’ you are on a fast road to Newgate Prison, with time for a quick stop at Bedlam!”
“I explained all of that!” She folded her arms over her chest. “There’s no need to get snippy.”
“You forget, don’t you? The man you thought to trap with your little plan is my own master! His lordship doesn’t deserve that fate, wedded to you. No man does! You’re a selfish little horror, with no more thought for others than a house cat!”
She glared at him. “What could you possibly know about me?”
He sneered. “I know y’think nothing of kidnappin’ and assaultin’ some poor man into marriage! If a man did that, he’d go to prison and rightly so!”
She set her jaw at a mulish angle. “I had my reasons.”
“Shallow, silly reasons! Lookin’ above your station, that’s what!” He eyed her with disdain. “What makes you think a man would be thankful to wed such a hellish female as yourself anyway? Sure, you’re as lovely as a perfect morning—but then you have to go and open your bloomin’ mouth.”
“You think—” She closed her mouth and stared at him strangely.
“What?” Wait a moment. What had he said? Oh, hell. He’d told her he thought her beautiful. Damn. Still, it was bound to come out sooner or later. It could hardly come as a surprise to her. She owned a mirror, after all.
She was still frowning at him. “That was … poetic, Mr. Hastings. Especially for a—”
Oddly, he bristled in defense of the real Hastings. “You think a man needs toff parents to have a soul? I haven’t any parents at all and I can appreciate a song or a poem as well as the next man.”
“Or a perfect morning.” A tiny smile curved the corners of her lovely mouth.
“Aye! I—” Damn it, she’d done it again. He gritted his teeth. He would not feed her vanity further. “A statement of fact ain’t a poem, miss. Birds fly, fish swim, you’re a right looker, the end.”
Still that smile teased at her lips. “Mr. Hastings, I do believe you like me a little.”
He threw up his hands and gazed at the sky. The perfect morning mocked him, even as the hellcat let out a soft gurgle of laughter that ran up his spine and made his scalp tingle.
“You’re me worst nightmare come to life. I no more like you than I like a bad cold! You both take three days to get shut of!”
Her smile gentled further. “Mr. Hastings, now you claim to be infected by me.”
“That—you—I—” His throat closed in fury and no small amount of alarm. Could she be right? Could her wry humor and her quick wit—and yes, her lovely face!—be getting under his skin?
Elektra felt a giggle start to rise at the look of pure horror in the poor man’s eyes. She ought not to tease him so. It just made what she needed all the harder to ask for.
She would not beg. Not him. Not ever.
Unless, of course, it would get her away from the scene of her crime, away from the memory of her failure, away from the ruins of Worthington Manor and all the significance of that pile of rubble that so symbolized her family’s fall from status.
“Fine! I’ll beg, if that will satisfy you!”
He seemed only more alarmed by that, and held up both hands in self-defense. “No, really, miss!”
Speak softly, before he runs away! “I’m sorry. You are perfectly correct. It was all such an awful, terrible idea. I regret it deeply.” That part was no lie, to be sure. “Mr. Hastings,” she begged with all the sweetness she could muster, “will you please, please accompany Miss Bliss Worthington and myself on the road back to London?”
She even clasped her hands before her. She batted her eyelashes. She begged. Her brothers would be agog.
Mr. Hastings only twitched, as if he could not decide whether to stay or run for his life. She watched him carefully, noting the moment when he realized that there was no possible way he could honorably leave two ladies to travel on their own.
He let out a long breath, then made a deep and gentlemanly bow to both her and Bliss. “It would be an honor, Miss Worthington, Miss Worthington.”
Elektra blinked at the graciousness of his acceptance. For a moment, he almost could have passed as the real Lord Aaron Arbogast. Then he ruined that brief impression by stepping closer to her and whispering in her ear.
“Ye know ye’re ruinin’ my life, ye demented li’l criminal!”
Oh, excellent! Now she no longer had to pretend to be sweet! Elektra raised her chin and bared her teeth in his face. “Thank you, dear sir! Your assistance is greatly appreciated!”
She turned away from him and swept a graceful hand toward the waiting Bliss. “Come along, cousin!” she trilled. “Let us go refresh ourselves at the inn. Mr. Hastings has graciously agreed to manage everything.” She turned to shoot him a smile of pure rage over her shoulder. She knew her fury translated, for she saw his eyes narrow and his lips thin in response.
Satisfied that she’d scored evenly, if not gained a length ahead, Elektra showed more teeth. “Absolutely everything!”
Chapter Eight
Aaron stared at the retreating back of the most infuriating female ever born to the human race. What had he just done?
I think you are on your way to London.
Was he that much of an idiot, that a pair of fluttering green-blue eyes and a pair of dainty hands clasped before a truly delicious bosom could make him throw away everything he’d worked so hard for over the last decade?
He passed a hand over his face, trying to pull himself together. In the darkness behind his lids, he once again saw that delicious bosom in that rain-soaked shirt, felt the touch of those dainty hands in his hair, saw those eyelids flutter closed when she pressed her soft, warm lips to his—
He wasn’t the first man to be an idiot for a pretty woman. Maybe not even the first man to be an idiot for a pretty criminal!
He was, however, quite sure that he was the first man to throw away a hundred thousand pounds and the regard of his last remaining family just to be the beast of burden for a pretty criminal!
Although if all criminals looked like Miss Elektra Worthington, there might be a few more fools like him about.
Fine. He’d agreed to do this unimaginably distressing thing—namely, toss his mission aside and trot back down the road to the one place he ought to avoid like the plague!—but he would drop in on Hastings first and fill him in on the new plan … if one could call following Miss Anarchy Worthington around like a lapdog a plan.
* * *
If Aaron’s manservant thought there was anything odd about his employer scrambling into his room through the open window, he didn’t comment. Aaron had to grin. Trusty Hastings!
Hastings listened to Aaron’s latest adventure with nary a guffaw, but that might have been due
to his sore throat. He offered Aaron a cup of his broth, which Aaron politely declined. Hastings shrugged and took a slurping sip. “My Edith is a right good cook!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Ah!”
Aaron narrowed his eyes. “Hastings, you are not here to flirt with the maidservants.”
Hastings smirked. “Says the man who spent the night with that fair-haired minx! How long had it been for you, eh? Years?”
Aaron went very still. “Hastings, you have earned my everlasting gratitude. However, if I ever hear another such slur upon Miss Elektra Worthington, I will kill you before you manage to inhale once more.”
Hastings drew back, something oddly like respect in his shadowed gaze. “Aye, then,” he muttered. “If ye feel so strongly about it.”
Aaron held his gaze. “I do.” There was no reason for his hot and sudden rage. He fought it back with difficulty.
Hastings, usually irrepressible on the topic of carnal prospects, changed the subject. “Are ye goin’ on to the estate now?”
Aaron wished he could reply in the affirmative, but he couldn’t. He wished he could run for his life and leave the young ladies here to await their family!
When would that be? A day? A week? The two young ladies in question—one simply mad, the other decidedly contrarian—had already proved that they could not be trusted to the care and feeding of a pebble, much less take proper heed of their own safety. Aaron shuddered to think what mischief the two of them could concoct in a matter of hours, much less possibly days!
Stay here with them until help arrives.
Help in the form of the demented soldier and assistant highwayman brother, who ought not to have let his sister out of his sight in the first place? Thank you, no. Aaron didn’t need help like that.
He’d be better off taking them back to London by himself.
Oh, hell. Aaron ran one hand through his hair.
London.
Hellfire and damnation.
London on the way to his destination had been visited as swiftly and silently as possible. They’d scarcely left the docks. Hastings had purchased the carriage and team while Aaron had watched from the background. The fine clothing had been had from a secondhand stall in the market, again with Hastings as the front man.
Aaron had always known that he would have to face the city again someday, but he had hoped it would not happen until he was rightfully the Earl of Arbodean—and even then, he wouldn’t have minded giving matters a few more years to die down.
Then, of course, his plans were struck by the cannonball that was Miss Elektra Worthington!
Hastings choked on his broth when he heard. “London? Are ye mad? If anyone recognizes ye—”
Aaron shrugged helplessly. “There’s no other choice. Besides, I’m just an irascible manservant named Hastings, remember? Beneath anyone’s notice, right? Isn’t that how you slide past close scrutiny?”
Hastings smirked. “So ye have been payin’ attention to me lessons. What about yer grandpapa, then?”
Aaron thought it through for a moment. Casting his gaze about the room, he saw a small stack of foolscap and a bottle of ink that had been provided for “his lordship.” Swiftly, he inked a quill and in his finest handwriting delivered a nicely worded apology for his “indisposition” and tardiness, along with the inn’s address.
He did not seal it. “Let the innkeeper see it before he posts it for you.”
He also wrote out the address of Worthington House in London. “Here is where you’ll find me if you need to. I don’t expect to be more than a few days away.” With a very Hastings-like tip of his hat, he climbed back through the window.
He thought his urgent schedule might encounter some argument from the young ladies, but he discovered they had already returned to the pony cart.
“Of course.” Miss Bliss blinked uncommonly blue eyes at him. “I should like to begin my Season as soon as possible. If I am any later,” she told him earnestly, “the best matches will already be made.”
“I had already decided so.” Miss Elektra scarcely bothered to look at him. “You’ll ride alongside, of course. Bliss’s silly little pony can’t pull three.” She turned away, muttering something about “men, always needing to state the obvious!”
Once Aaron had given in to the winds of fate, it was surprising how quickly the three of them were once more upon the road. Miss Bliss set a brisk pace with her pony. Bonnet ribbons flying in the breeze, the two ladies looked very much alike from Aaron’s position behind and properly to one side. Cousins indeed.
Except there was a lissomeness to Miss Elektra Worthington’s figure—although most would probably find Miss Bliss Worthington’s charms more impressive. And Miss Bliss had a sweetly modulated voice—yet Miss Elektra seemed rather more interesting to listen to.
They were both very pretty young ladies. Are you trying to choose between them? Because here’s an option—choose flight! Forget this gentlemanly gesture and ride this ill-tempered nag north as fast as it can gallop!
Except that it wasn’t a gesture. Somehow, somewhere along his journey to prove to his grandfather that he was a worthy man, he’d stopped thinking about how things looked and begun to care about how they truly were.
And in his heart, he could not turn his back on two vulnerable women. He could not ride away without knowing she—they—were safely in their family’s embrace once more.
Having a conscience was bloody damned annoying.
* * *
Aaron’s mount, a bay gelding of particularly stupid and lazy nature that Hastings had immediately dubbed Lard-Arse—which had unfortunately stuck, since Aaron honestly couldn’t think of any moniker more fitting—had taken a liking to Miss Bliss Worthington’s perfect little pony mare. The mare, well aware that she was a pedigreed beauty and that Lard-Arse was an inferior oaf with suspicious intentions, had loathed him on sight.
Aaron had no differing opinion to offer in defense of Lard-Arse, so he tried to keep the gelding an inoffensive distance from Bliss’s dainty pony.
However, with pounding head and indecisive stomach not improving from the ride and Lard-Arse’s jolting trot, Aaron became distracted in his mission of hauling the stupid beast’s head in a more suitable direction and let the reins slacken.
Before he could catch the idiot, Lard-Arse had lowered his brick-shaped head to the level of the pony mare’s silken tail and offered her an unseemly compliment.
The mare, who up till now had posed as a creature of extraordinarily good nature and training, bestowed upon Lard-Arse three lightning kicks directly in his lewd and unbearable nose, screeched abuse upon his lack-witted head, and took off down the dusty road as if demon-possessed.
“Bianca! Bianca, stop!” Bliss stood up in the seat and sawed at the dainty ribbon reins with admirable skill and some unexpected muscle, while Elektra leaned her full weight on the decoratively cast brake while clinging to her cousin’s skirts with her other hand.
Unfortunately, the cart and ladies were quite light for a sturdy pony’s strength, and Bianca pulled them along, rocketing wildly from one side of the lane to the other.
Aaron and Lard-Arse were so surprised by Bianca’s insane flight that they stopped short with unfortunately identical expressions of witless astonishment on their faces.
Aaron came to first, and leaning forward, lashed Lard-Arse with the reins, digging his boot heels into the horse’s sides. “Hah!”
Lard-Arse took off like a shot. He might not be smart, or well mannered, or particularly reliable, but his pretty pony darling was disappearing over yon hillside—and he had longer legs and he meant to use them.
* * *
There was no screaming, Aaron would recall at a later point.
Not a girlish squeal. Not a feminine screech. The two young women held their tongues and held on tight. Bliss didn’t look to be sawing on the reins, either—a beginning driver’s last resort, and one not inclined to soothe an irate equine.
Though small, ponies, like this sturdy We
lsh pony, were bred for backbreaking work that would kill a proper horse. This one had speed and the endurance of generations of mining beasts. The pony would simply have to run her fit of temper out.
Aaron encouraged more speed from the gelding anyway, for although the pony would not mean to run into danger, she was hardly the best judge of that at the moment.
And sure enough, danger loomed. The road dipped once over that last hill, and without the drag of the cart, the pony gained speed. The decreased elevation of the road could mean a simple valley between hills, but that valley could hold—
Yes. Aaron’s gut flipped sideways as he spotted the river ahead. He’d recalled it correctly. At the base of this particular stretch of road he’d had a bad moment driving his ill-fated carriage over it. Swollen yet further by the recent rains, it rushed with white curls of foam mere inches below the humble log bridge that spanned it. The bridge was hardly wider than the wheels of an average carriage, so in normal circumstances the dainty pony cart should have no issue crossing—
The speeding wheels hit the planks of the bridge with a sound like rolling thunder. Bliss stood in the driver’s seat, fighting to keep the pony centered on the narrow span. It wasn’t a wide river, and the bridge was no longer than six or seven yards. Aaron raised himself in the stirrups, holding his breath even as Lard-Arse gained on the cart, unable to tear his gaze away from the prettily lacquered wheels of the cart, so damned close to the rough edge of the bridge.
Then a thick branch hit the side of the bridge, carried on the strength of the storm-swollen current. The pony shied, just a bit, but it was enough. The left wheel flew over empty space and the cart flipped hard into the downstream side of the roiling water.
“No!” Aaron didn’t bother to dismount. He pulled his feet from the stirrups and dived from the saddle directly into the water.
He came up quickly to find himself bobbing along in the current alongside the cart. It had flipped fully until now it swept sideways before him, pulling a frantically swimming pony along with it. Aaron grabbed the side bar and pulled himself higher, casting his gaze frantically around him. In the cart, Bliss’s fetching bonnet swirled lazily in the circling water that sloshed inside.
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