The Earl's Encounter (Regency Rendezvous Book 7)

by Wendy Vella

  She did not look at him, which he thought strange. If he was yelling at someone, he would do so to their face. In fact, her legs lay across his, but her body was twisted to face forward. Not a comfortable position, one would think.

  “I fail to see how you can stop me, and your virtue is safe, as I only have to take one look at Mugwort to have my ardor cooled.”

  Joseph smiled as she gasped, too outraged to speak.

  “Furnish me with where you have run from, and I will take you back there at once. Only then will I let you down.”

  “Please release me.”

  “No.” Joseph felt the lick from Mugwort’s rough little tongue on the small exposed band of skin between his cuff and glove, on the arm he had around Miss Higglesworth’s slender waist. He wondered if it had been prompted by gratitude. The ugly little dog was tired, was his guess.

  “I don’t like horses.”

  Along with the lisp she had a gruff, deepish voice that seemed strange coming from a person of her size. He tried not to notice the slender curves of her body as he pulled her back between his thighs, nor the weight of her breast on the arm he held around her. Her coat was far too thin for such conditions. She was shivering, so he opened his and pulled her back inside. She was like a block of ice. He was amazed her teeth weren’t banging together.

  “Th-this is highly improper. I want you to release me. ’Tis not right for you to be carrying me in such a way... in any way. I-I have no wish to be inside your coat at the same time as you.”

  “Monty is a gentleman, I assure you.”

  “He’s an ugly horse,” she snapped, trying to wriggle free.

  “I hardly think, considering what you hold in your arms, that you have even a foothold in this conversation. Nor, may I add, about impropriety, as I see no companion at your side.”

  “I am a servant, I have no companion.”

  She had him there.

  “Will you let me take you back to where you have come from, Miss Higglesworth, please? Surely whatever small misdeed your family or employer has done is not worth running away.”

  “I have left one employ, and am making my way to my next post.”

  “At two o’clock in the morning?”

  “I-I like to travel at night.” Her voice rose and Joseph thought perhaps lying was not something she was comfortable with.

  “Without a horse or carriage, you decided to simply leave your employ or home, as I am yet to be convinced of the latter, and walk to the next one?”

  “I own neither, as many servants do not.”

  Joseph thought of the crossroads he had left behind a few miles ago, and wondered if he rode back there, would she tell him which of the three roads leading off it led in the direction of whence she’d come.

  “Your father wants you to marry a wealthy older man?” Joseph said, giving Monty his head as he settled Miss Higglesworth into his arms more comfortably. She smelled nice, something soft and subtle. Not being a flower person, he had no idea what it was. His sister would know; she knew everything about flora and fauna.

  “No.”

  He looked at the bonnet. What color hair and eyes did she have? There was something in his mind, a recognition that he could not quite call forth. He knew this woman... or something about her reminded him of another.

  “Your sister stole your beau and you will never forgive her, nor will you attend the wedding?”

  “No. As I have stated, my lord, I am moving to my next position.”

  It was a strange circumstance that just minutes ago he had been pondering his problems alone, yet now he had this woman in his arms, he was more than happy pondering hers.

  “I would like you to let me down here, my lord. Please.”

  “No, I cannot do that.”

  “Then will you drop me at the next inn?”

  “There is no inn nearby.”

  Her spine was rigid, attempting not touch his chest.

  “I want to take you back to your home, Miss Higglesworth. Had I not come along, someone with far more nefarious intentions may have.” Now he had her before him, Joseph wondered what he was to do with her if she did not tell him where she came from.

  “I do not have a home or family. I have my employment, my lord, as I believe I have already mentioned. I need to make my way to the village of Spindle with some expediency. So if you will not put me down here, then will you do so in a place that will help me achieve that?”

  “And what is your employment?”

  “I-I am a governess.” She wriggled again, her bottom brushing his breeches. And whilst he still did not have a clear picture of what she looked like, he was certainly very aware of the fact that her small bottom was deliciously rounded. Her hesitation also suggested she was not telling the entire truth.

  “And do you enjoy this occupation, because to my mind you seem very young to have been in the position overlong.”

  “It is most rewarding,” she said in a stiff voice.

  “And who are you running from, Miss Higglesworth?” he said, hoping to catch her off guard.

  “It matters not what I run from, my lord, only that I have a place to run to, surely?”

  “Are you one of those devilishly well-read females who will argue every point and outwit a poor simpleminded man with words?”

  “It is my fondest wish to be just such a woman.”

  “Here’s the thing, Miss Higglesworth. If indeed you are going to Spindle, it will take you at least two, perhaps three hours on foot.”

  “I—ah... I like walking.”

  “As do I. However, not in the dark when the temperatures are cold enough to freeze a person to the road. Now, I am approximately one hour from my home, where I shall soon be knee-deep in brothers. I will take you there if you wish it, and then to Spindle in the morning, which is the next village from mine. Or I will return you to wherever you came. I will not, however, simply drop you on the roadside at this hour.”

  “Does a stage run from your village, my lord?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you will drop me there, then, I shall wait to catch the stage in the morning to Spindle.”

  “Miss Higglesworth, it is due to snow. I am cold, and if you force me to drop you in Stonleigh, I will be colder, as I will have to wait with you until the stage comes, because I doubt anyone in the village will be awake to accommodate you at such an hour.”

  “I wish you would simply just agree to my request,” she muttered.

  “As my siblings will attest, I never simply agree.”

  “But I am a servant.” Exasperation was evident in her tone.

  “And therefore not worthy of my time or effort?”

  He could almost hear her thinking as Monty walked slowly down the road for several steps.

  “Yes. I doubt you involve yourself in each of your servants’ lives.”

  “If I found them walking about in the early hours of the morning, I may.” Joseph heard the snap of her teeth as he finished talking.

  “I will find lodgings for what is left of the night.”

  “I doubt that very much, and have already explained why.”

  “I will,” she vowed. “People come and go at all times of the night.”

  “Very well, I will see you to Stonleigh, and there you may catch the stage.”

  “I would rather you let me down now.”

  “You, Miss Higglesworth, are ungrateful.”

  The silence stretched.

  “If you will drop me at Stonleigh, then I shall accept your offer, my lord. Although it does not sit well.”

  “But I offer you my gratitude that I am not to spend several more hours on this cold road,” Joseph added.

  Her spine stiffened, and then softened. “Forgive me for my rudeness. I am of course grateful, it is merely that I have no wish to inconvenience you further, and this is a highly irregular situation.”

  “No inconvenience at all,” Joseph replied in the same polite tone. This woman was no servant, he’d stake Monty
on that. He also believed she was not intimidated by his title, just nervous that he, of all people, had chanced upon her. He wondered again who she was.

  “Perhaps you could stop, and I will climb on behind to offer you more comfort, my lord?”

  “I am comfortable, but thank you for your consideration. However, as my horse has the added burden of carrying both you and your plump companion, Miss Higglesworth, he will need to take at least one brief stop before we complete our journey.”

  “I’m not sure why you are intent on abusing poor, sweet little Daisy, when she is but a helpless animal who cannot defend herself.”

  Joseph looked around Miss Higglesworth at her ugly pet.

  “What possessed you to own such an unfortunate creature? Begging your pardon if my words upset you,” Joseph added.

  “I... ah, well as to that, she actually found her way into following me when I left.”

  Joseph laughed, the sound loud in the still night air. “You stole the ugliest dog in Christendom, when you could have had a silver tea service, or something of far more value?”

  “I would never steal from a person!” She sounded genuinely outraged, which assured him his passenger had not established a career as a thief.

  “Will you not give me your first name, Miss Higglesworth? Considering our circumstances and the fact that you are to ride between my thighs for the next hour, I am sure we can move past the usual restrictions?”

  She stiffened and then wriggled, and Joseph bit back a moan as her bottom brushed his groin once more.

  “But what’s in a name, my lord, when after this ride we shall never see each other again?”

  “A great deal, I should imagine, considering the surname you were given. My hope is that your first name has a better ring to it.”

  “You insult me, sir!”

  Chapter Three

  Milly brushed a hand over Daisy’s head to calm her as she snuffled in answer to her raised voice. The little dog instantly settled and rested her ugly little face on Milly’s thigh.

  Dear Lord! He had no idea who rode before him. He was an earl now, Lord Ellsworth, the man who, had things been different, she would now be wed to. The man she had loved with every inch of her foolish innocent heart, as he had loved her. Thus far, he had not recognized her, and to ensure that did not happen she needed to avoid looking at him until she could leave, or at least put in her cheek rolls and add padding to her hips. Thankfully she had worn her glasses, and remembered to lisp.

  Resisting the urge to look over her shoulder, she prayed that perfidious, foul creature Mr. Pestle had not decided to pursue her. She also hoped his head hurt from the clout she had given it with her book. Odious creature. How dared he force his attentions on her after his wife had offered Milly a room for the night.

  “Just your name, Miss Higglesworth, nothing more taxing than that.”

  It had been four years since she had ended their betrothal and fled London. Four years where she had gleaned nothing about those she had left behind but snatches of conversation.

  This man had once been the sole reason for her happiness. In him she had found everything she had craved: love and affection.

  Milly’s father had been a cold, unemotive man, unlike Joseph, who had laughed and loved openly. Raised in a nurturing environment, unlike her, he had been to her innocent eyes a man worthy of her devotion.

  “Come now, take a deep breath and tell me.”

  Milly had always loved Joseph’s voice. Deep, and smooth like warmed brandy. He’d once whispered sweet words into her ear, and spoken of a future she would now never have. That future had been for a woman far removed from the one she had become.

  For four years she had managed to avoid anyone who would recognize her. Four years of running from the danger her father’s perfidy had thrown her into. Only by using her wits had she stayed a step ahead of the man who pursued her. But in doing so, she had walked away from this man and her chance at happiness.

  At least Joseph had not recognized her, and indeed, why should he? She was nothing like the society miss she had once been. Innocent and naive were no longer words she could lay claim to. The world she had stepped into had changed that.

  “My name is Milly, my lord.” She felt safe giving him an abbreviated version.

  “And I am Joseph,” he said softly.

  “It would be impertinent of me to call you so.”

  “Possibly, and yet as I have given you permission to do so, then I’m sure between us it is acceptable.”

  The arm around her pulled her closer as she tried to sit upright. She did not want to feel the hard-muscled planes of his chest against her back, nor the wonderful warmth of the arms wrapped around her. She didn’t need the comfort or protection he could offer her anymore. Couldn’t allow herself to need it. There would never be comfort for her in anyone’s arms again.

  “Milly is pretty, and more than compensates for your last name. I’m greatly relieved.”

  She tried to ease her back away from his chest. The contact was disturbing. In fact, this entire situation was disturbing. Almost unbelievable, and yet here she sat before the one man she had vowed never to see again.

  “You will get a stiff back if you keep fidgeting. Not to mention that every time you lean forward, a cold blast of air cools my chest.”

  She would stay with him until the chance to slip away presented itself. The humiliation of this man becoming aware of her identity was more than she could bear. He would also have questions that she could never answer.

  “What do you do with your time, Milly?”

  He held on to the last syllable of her name, as if in a song.

  “I am a governess.”

  “And?”

  “I do not have time to spare.”

  “I’m sure you must have some time.”

  “I like to read, my lord.”

  “My sister made me read Miss Primrose’s latest horror just last week. Madam Lilith’s Tomb of Terror. I have to say I struggled with the continual lopping off of limbs. However, the overall story was well written.”

  His words surprised a snuffle from her. Perhaps it was the tiredness that was making her light-headed. After all, here she was seated upon a horse before one of the wealthiest peers in London, a man whom she had once loved desperately, discussing his reading preferences. She would take this brief moment in time to be with him again. He would never realize who rode before him; why would he? He had long since forgotten Lady Millicent Lawrence, society darling. Woman who had betrayed him.

  “I have to own to disliking Mr. Pettigrew. He was not the hero I would have chosen for Miss Smythe, especially when she was about to have her fingers cut off. Indeed, he stood to one side saying only that she would need them to complete a full life.”

  “Heartless,” he said, and Milly heard the laughter in his voice. “He should have offered to exchange places, clearly. After all, he himself was established. Especially with the death of his father, his future was assured. What need had he for fingers?”

  Milly snorted at the ridiculousness of the conversation. She remembered that about him also. When Joseph had lowered his noble guard, she had enjoyed his humor.

  “He did not have the makings of a good hero, my lord, that is my point.”

  “What makes a good hero?” Milly could hear the genuine interest in his voice.

  Lord, she had thought of just that for days and weeks since her world had been turned on its head.

  “Faith,” she said softly. “Faith in the person he loves, even when it seems only he believes her. Against all odds he should stand by her, even if she makes it hard to do so.”

  “But what if she lies? What if she makes his loving her impossible? No. I fear you ask too much of us, Milly.”

  Milly’s fingers shook as they stroked Daisy’s little head. His words had held curiosity, not derision. He did not speak of what she had done; had he forgotten her now? Was she a distant memory? Had her lies destroyed everything he had felt fo
r her?

  This is what you wanted, Milly.

  “True love will always be tested, my lord, but a hero should be in no doubt that his heroine will always be true to him. There can be no quarter given in this, I believe.”

  She wondered why she was persisting in this, when she had tested him to a point where he could no longer stand by her, or indeed fight for what they once had.

  Milly allowed herself to lean back into him as exhaustion slowly took hold. Now she was no longer walking, she was suddenly bone-achingly weary. Her expectations had been to catch a ride to the stage in Mr. Pestle’s cart in the morning. However, his unwanted attentions had forced her to flee.

  “You will have to work hard to convince me to believe in such a love, Milly. But what of you? Have you forged this belief that a hero must have faith in his love from experience?”

  “Certainly not.”

  Had she destroyed his faith in love? The thought made her feel ill.

  His laugh was a deep rumble.

  “Do not laugh at me, my lord. You asked me the question, and I told you the answer. If it is not to your liking, that is your problem not mine.”

  Milly again fought the urge to look over her shoulder at him. The beautiful yet aloof Viscount Haddon, now the Earl of Ellsworth. When had his father died? The event would have caused him grave pain, as he had loved his father deeply.

  Tall, handsome, with intelligent brown eyes, Joseph had often made women sigh. His face was a thing of beauty, or so Miss Mary Littlewood had once stated. Prominent cheekbones, a long, elegant nose; Milly remembered the first time she had seen him. The breath had caught in her throat, and her stomach had clenched. She had danced with him several times, and remembered feeling awkward. She in her first season, bumbling her way through society, and he appearing cool and calm, understanding his place in the world and accepting the shoes he walked in. And then he had taken an interest in her, and she had scarcely believed it possible. Then they had fallen in love. The future had shone bright and happy for them for a brief moment, and then it had been ripped away.

  “I was not laughing at you, Milly, I was laughing at your vehement denial, which told me that you have indeed been thwarted in love.”