Miss Charity's Case (5 page)

As they crossed a small bridge over the Serpentine, Charity gasped, “There she is!”

“Where,
Mademoiselle
Charity?” Hélène looked in every direction. “I do not see her.”

“There!” She pointed toward a clump of bushes. She could not mistake her sister's slender silhouette atop a chestnut mount. Her eyes narrowed.

Joyce was deep in conversation with a dapperly dressed, dark-haired man. Was this the reason her sister had skulked away? For a meeting with a stranger? This was worse than anything Charity could have imagined.

She was about to call to Joyce when she heard, “Miss Stuart? Dare I believe my eyes it is you, Miss Stuart?”

Her breath caught in the center of her breast as she saw, on a black horse, the man she had met at The King's Heart Inn. She could not mistake Mr. Blackburn's cool blue eyes or his tousled ebony hair. His elegantly cut navy riding coat and nankin breeches were not stained with mud as his clothes had been that night, but they fit him as well. Mr. Blackburn's ship must be doing well if he could afford the services of such a talented knight of the cloth.

She looked toward her sister, then quickly away. She must not let Mr. Blackburn guess what had brought her to Hyde Park. “Good day, sir,” she said, hoping he would ride on. Then she could collect Joyce and—She sighed when Mr. Blackburn drew in his horse by the carriage.

“I am pleased that, this time, you are wise enough not to be alone. May I believe that you took my suggestions for your welfare to heart?” He laughed, his eyes sparkling as brightly as the sun upon the Serpentine. “I see you have become a part of the fashionable set.”

“My situation has changed.”

“May I hope for the better?”

Mr. Blackburn's inquisitiveness was quite enough to send her up into the boughs when she wanted to put an end to this and collect her sister. “We are enjoying the hospitality of Lady Eloise Anthony.”

“What the deuce! You are
her
grand-niece?” He laughed again. “Then I assume she plans to bring you out.”

“Me?” She shook her head. “That is most unlikely.”

“Why? You are a lovely woman.” He chuckled when Hélène gasped at his forward words. “If I may be so bold, it would be a mistaken thing to leave you on the shelf during the Season.”

“I have no interest in the Season, sir.”

“How delightful to meet a woman who knows her mind enough to turn her back on the
elite
and enjoy her own life! I salute you, Miss Stuart.”

“And I bid you good—”

Charity's farewell was interrupted when another man paused next to Mr. Blackburn. A foppish member of the dandy-set, he wore his collar halfway up his cheeks. His cravat was tied with utmost perfection and his coat cut in the latest style.

“What a surprise to see you, Blackburn!” the man crowed with a smile. “I thought you were still at sea.”

“Recently returned.” He turned toward Charity, his grin devilish as he proclaimed so grandly she guessed he had little use for his companion, “Percy Copeland, the second Viscount Copley, may I introduce Miss—”

“Charity Stuart,” she supplied when she realized she never had told Mr. Blackburn her given name. Holding out her hand, she risked a glance toward her sister. How much longer would she be delayed by this prattle from going to Joyce? She could not risk sending Hélène, for Mr. Blackburn was sure to be curious. Tritely, she said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

Lord Copley took her hand and raised it to his lips, startling her. “I am charmed, Miss Stuart, but not surprised to find you in Blackburn's company.”

“How so?”

With a bold wink, he said, “We all envy the earl's reputation for being the first to find the most lovely ladies.”

“Earl?” she gasped.

Lord Blackburn fired a scowl at the viscount, who arched a brow and smiled. “You need not look so chagrined, Miss Stuart.
I
failed to introduce myself correctly. You seemed quite out of countenance at The King's Heart Inn. I saw no reason to make you more uncomfortable.”

“King's Heart?” Copley grimaced. “God's breath, I should have known you'd be found in such a low place, Blackburn.” A flush of embarrassment surged up his cheeks. “Miss Stuart, I meant no insult.”

“Only to me,” Lord Blackburn said with a sharp laugh. “If you had the wit of a dormouse, Copley, you would know the mail coach regularly stops at The King's Heart. Then you would not be risking a blemish on Miss Stuart's character.”

Copley mumbled a hasty “Good day” and rode away at top speed. Charity did not watch where he went. She was imprisoned by Lord Blackburn's cool gaze.
Lord Blackburn!
How long before her great-aunt learned of her
faux pas?

Slowly his smile warmed, but it still held a challenge she presumed few had mastered. She did not want to be the one to contest it when Joyce's reputation was in more danger than hers.

“I am sorry to have disconcerted you, Miss Stuart,” he said, “both today and that evening.”

Although the wisest course would have been to accept his apology and ride away, she did not want to turn the corner in the bridle path and chance losing sight of her sister. She could not go until Joyce was sitting beside her. Mayhap she could persuade the earl to take his leave.

“Yet you continued to delude me,” she said. “If Lord Copley had not spoken the truth, I would remain the victim of your prank.”

“Me?” He pressed his hand over his heart. The guileless expression did not fit comfortably on his stern face. “You wound me, Miss Stuart, when I thought only to introduce you to a dear friend.” When she regarded him with bafflement, he laughed. “Not Copley, but someone far dearer to me.”

“My lord, I must beg you to excuse me.” This was not going as she had hoped. Hélène's clandestine tug on her skirt told her what she already knew. Every moment chanced Joyce's indiscretion being discovered. “I must—”

“By all that's blue!” He chuckled. “What can be more important on such a lovely day than the chance to meet my friend?”

“To me or to you?”

Lord Blackburn laughed again. He rested one arm on the back of the carriage and bent so his compelling gaze was close—dangerously close—to her. The peculiar swirl of heat washed over her again. “I see you are not a woman who dallies with farradiddles. You want to speak more plainly.” His gloved finger brushed her cheek. “Then so shall I. It would behoove you to meet my friend, for she may be of help as you become mired in this Season.”

Charity opened her mouth to reply she had no plans to be a part of this Season or any other, but his touch swept all words from her head. She could think only of the soft, pungent leather of his glove against her cheek and the heat of his skin warming hers.

Hélène tugged on her skirt again, and Charity squared her shoulders, breaking Lord Blackburn's mesmerizing gaze. She must have a knock in the cradle to let him draw her into a flirtation. If she were not careful, Joyce would turn and see her needing a lesson in propriety. Lord Blackburn was proving, that despite his title, he was no gentleman.

He seemed unperturbed by her frown. Waving his hand, he called, “Thyra, over here!”

“Patience, Oliver,” came back the answer in a lilting voice. A woman rode toward them on a light brown horse. The sun burnished her gold hair. Her wide, blue eyes were edged by guinea-gold lashes against her perfect skin. Her hair, beneath her stylish hat, coiled in impeccable curls while her elegant gown topped by a lace-trimmed blue velvet spencer accented her curves.

Charity was astounded as something twinged inside her when she saw Lord Blackburn take the woman's hand and squeeze it gently.
Jealous?
She was glad only she could hear the soft accusation. She wanted to be done with Lord Blackburn. Yet she could not halt the ripple of disappointment that this beautiful woman was his friend. Or were they more? The woman regarded him with adoration.

“Oliver,” chided the lady he had called Thyra, “when will you learn that I do not wish to be ordered about like one of your empty-headed marines?”

“I thought you might wish to meet a new friend.”

She gave Charity a sympathetic smile. “Oliver, I must confess she seems quite astonished by your claim of friendship.”

“Miss Charity Stuart, may I introduce a very forthright Lady Thyra Estes?”

“My pleasure, my lady,” Charity answered, ignoring another yank on her skirt. She wanted to snap at Hélène to be patient and to Lord Blackburn to take his leave. She could do neither.

“So you are Charity Stuart.” Lady Thyra's eyes twinkled. “Oliver has told me all about you.”

“‘All about me'?”

Lord Blackburn said, “I share Miss Stuart's astonishment, Thyra. As I have spoken with her but once before today, I find it incredible that I could tell you ‘all about her'.”

Lady Thyra playfully slapped his arm. “Don't be such a caper-wit! I meant, Miss Stuart, that Oliver told me he had met you. Do not look so dismayed! I am quite the curious cat about his business. When he returns from the sea, I badger him until he tells me every delicious detail of his most recent voyage. This last one must have been a dead bore, except for meeting you and your sister at that horrible inn. Why don't you ride with us while we get better acquainted?”

“I must—” Charity glanced at where her sister was still conversing with the man in the shadows. Of what did they speak? Every passing moment chanced that someone would recognize her and scurry to Lady Eloise with the truth of her grandnieces' adventures.

“Bah!” Thyra flashed Lord Blackburn another brilliant smile. “I know Oliver is as anxious to know you as I am. Am I not right, Oliver?”

Charity made the mistake of looking at the earl. Her eyes were caught again in the blue steel trap of his. The humor had vanished. A strong sensation—was it fright?—flooded her when he said, “Yes, you are right. I think there are many, many things I would like to know better about Miss Stuart.”

Four

“Is that so, my lord?” Charity asked. If she wished to safeguard Joyce, she must put an end to this conversation, but something within her refused to allow Lord Blackburn to have the final word in this exchange.

“You don't think yourself interesting?” he returned.

“Of course, I think I am most interesting.”

“You do?”

She smiled. She had not expected her words to render him speechless so swiftly. “I have enjoyed a life far different from those enjoyed by your other acquaintances, my lord.”

“Have you now?” He rested his hand on the carriage only inches from her shoulder.

Although she knew it was nigh onto impossible when he did not touch her, warmth spread outward from his fingers to surround her in pleasure. Mayhap it was, as lief, the challenge in his sapphire eyes. She had dared to joust with him, and he was not accustomed to defeat.

“Yes, I have.” Her voice was breathless as she gazed up at him.

“You must enlighten me, Miss Stuart. I suspect I would find your life in Bridgeton amusing.”

Charity sat straighter, shaking off the spell he had spun with the ease of a magician. “Bridgeton? How did you know we lived in Bridgeton?”

He chuckled. “Miss Stuart, do you think anything can remain a secret among the
ton?
” Looking at the lady beside him, he added, “I suspect you have heard much about the arrival of Miss Stuart.”

Lady Thyra slapped his arm playfully. “You know, that even though I have little curiosity about what the gossip-mongers are peddling, I pay most of it little heed. I had thought you discounted such bibble-babble as well, Oliver.”

“I do.”

“Then—”

Charity broke in to say, “I must ask you to excuse me. I have delayed too long.” She slapped the reins on the horse to hurry it along the path.

She looked back and saw the slow smile slipping along Lord Blackburn's lips. She wondered if he were trying not to laugh at her silly skittishness or if he thought her a complete chucklehead.

Oliver Blackburn was not thinking either as he admired the stern set of Miss Stuart's shoulders and the gentle curve of her nape. Just the sight teased his fingers to caress her to discover how soft her skin might be.

“Shame on you, Oliver.”

At Thyra's scold, which warned she might be privy to his thoughts, he drew his gaze from the departing carriage to the woman by his side.

He scowled, but she laughed. He should have known his frown would have no effect on Thyra. She knew him far too well. Yet she knew him not at all, or she would have comprehended why he was so unsettled to see Miss Stuart today. If all had gone as expected … He forced a smile. Thyra must be kept as oblivious to the truth as she always had been.

“Shame on me?” he asked.

“For frightening Miss Stuart away with your ominous tone.” She shook her finger in its spotless kid glove in front of his nose. “You are so loathsome sometimes.”

He grasped her finger and chuckled. “I thought I was charming.”

She rolled her eyes, then pulled away to wave a greeting to riders coming toward them.

Oliver glanced back at the carriage. What a turn of fortune to discover Miss Stuart so swiftly! Good luck had been absent from his life for too long. This could herald a change exactly when he needed it.

“Oliver, do be polite! For once in your life.”

He gave Thyra a smile as he turned to greet her collection of admirers. For the first time in longer than he cared to recall, he felt like smiling.

Charity struggled to keep a smile as she edged the carriage to the far side of the path. She never had felt less like smiling. What more could go amiss today? First Joyce was acting as if she had a pudding in her head and then Lord Blackburn had appeared out of nowhere.

Lord Blackburn!
How could she have made such an error even before she reached London? If Lady Eloise learned about Charity's mistake, the old woman would be even more furious than if Charity had gone for an unchaperoned outing.