The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) (5 page)

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.

H
e 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 pretended 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.”
    She nodded and they were on their way. It was a miserable ride. They were pelted by cold, slanting rain that fell at a furious pace, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. They slowed to a walk and by the time they reached the lodge water was streaming off the brim of her hat and her riding habit was soaked and sticking uncomfortably to her skin. Rand quickly dismounted and helped her down. “I’ll get the horses stabled,” he shouted over the noise of the storm. "You’ll find a key beneath the jardinière on the front porch and a tinderbox and candles in the entrance hall. I’ll get a fire going as soon as I return from the stables.”

The key was easily located, the door opened, and Cecelia stepped inside. The chill air was musty and smelled of disuse, but it was dry. She found the tinderbox and a brace of candles and carried them into a small drawing room just off the entrance hall. Most of the furnishings were draped with dust covers, but the room had a fireplace and that was what mattered most. She took off her dripping hat that was now minus its feathers and tried to wring some of the water out of her skirt. It was a futile effort and she soon gave it up. A chill went through her and she shivered. Lord, she was cold! She struck a spark and her hands shook as she set about lighting the brace of candles and then turned her attention to the fireplace. If she didn’t get this room warmed up soon, they would both end up with the ague. Fortunately, firewood had been laid in the hearth and after several attempts and a few choice words she managed to set the logs blazing. Shivering, she stood as close to the flames as she dared, trying to get warm.
    “I’m impressed.” Rand’s voice came from behind her. “Where did you learn to light a fire?”
    She crossed her arms tightly in front of her and looked over her shoulder. “I’ve n...never done it b...before.” She hadn’t even realized how badly her teeth were chattering until she had opened her mouth to speak. “I’ve seen M...Mattie do it.”
    “I’ve got to get you warm, brat. Now.” His tone was light but there was more than a little concern in his voice. “I can hear you shivering from here.” He strode to the corner of the room and whipped off a dust cover exposing a plain mahogany cabinet. He opened the door and retrieved two glasses and a cut crystal decanter of amber liquid. He poured the liquor into one of the glasses and carried it over to her. “Sip it,” he ordered. “It should help.” When she turned to take the glass from him he said, “Good God, you’re soaked to the bone. You need something dry to change into.”
    Dry clothing sounded wonderful. Her once elegant riding habit was cold and clammy against her skin and she knew she’d never get warm with it on. She took the glass and sniffed it. “B...Brandy?” she asked with surprise.
    “Yes. Under the circumstances I believe it’s warranted.”
    She tasted it and made a face. “I sup suppose it’s better than Ratafia. Aren’t you having any?”
    “I seem to have lost my taste for it. I’ll find something else. But first let me find something to dry you off with and a change of clothing. I can’t let you get sick.”
    “You’re just as wet as I am,” she pointed out. “Your cravat’s soggy and your hair’s messed up. I’ve never seen you in such a state of disrepair.”
    “It happens to the best of us,” he said. “Now, don’t go anywhere. Stay next to the fire and I’ll be back in a minute. And don’t gulp that,” he admonished when she raised the glass to her lips.”
    “Don’t do this. Don’t do that,” she muttered when he left the room. “One would think I was still in the school room. And where would I go anyway?” She took another sip and decided it wasn’t bad at all. She was a little warmer and the shivering was lessening. But her hair would never dry pinned up on top of her head. She sat her glass down on the mantle and began plucking out her hairpins until her hair fell loosely down her back. It was tangled and damp and she tried combing her fingers through it in a feeble attempt to bring some order to the unruly mass. It was too long and too curly and after several minutes of tugging on snarls and tangles she was beginning to regret her decision not to cut her hair to better suit some of the latest styles. She hit a particularly stubborn snarl and decided that given the chance she would sell her soul for a brush and comb.
    “My God!” Surprised, she looked over at Rand who had entered the room. He carried a green silk dressing gown and several towels draped over his arm, a bottle of liquor in his hand and a look of pure astonishment on his face.
    “What’s wrong?”
    He hesitated then swallowed. “Your hair.”
    She grimaced. “I know. It’s a mess. I should cut it.”
    “No!” It was almost a shout.
    She blinked.
    He looked away. “I just meant that you shouldn’t cut it. It’s very pretty.”
    “Oh. Thank you. Do you think you might have a comb or brush around here? If it dries like this I may not have a choice.”
    “I think so.” He handed her the dressing gown and towels. “I’m afraid this is the best I could find.”
    She took the items from him. “As long as I’m warm and dry, I don’t care what I look like. Thank you.”