And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,117
out with me,” he said, pointing the way back to the well-lit patio.
“Whyever not?” she asked, as if she hadn’t the slightest notion what he was saying.
And he didn’t look like he wanted to discuss the subject either. But he did anyway. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
“Proper?” She laughed as if he were making a joke. “Oh, bother propriety. How long have we known each other?”
“Forever,” he grumbled.
“And have we ever indulged ourselves in anything scandalous?” She strolled toward him and then circled him like a cat.
“No,” he ground out as he looked at her, at her bare shoulder, and then just as quickly looked away.
Not yet, she would like to have said, but instead she continued her charade. “So whatever is wrong with you escorting me into the garden for a bit of air, especially since you’ve promised my brothers to keep an eye on me—which you have, haven’t you?”
“Well, yes—”
“Do you think they would prefer I go for a walk in the gardens with Lord Fieldgate?” More to the point, Roxley, she wanted to say, do you want me out there with that bounder?
“Bother you to hell, Harry. No, they wouldn’t like it.”
Neither would she. “So?”
His jaw worked back and forth, and truly he did look like Lancelot caught between his loyalty to his liege and something less honorable.
Harriet hoped the less honorable part would win.
And to her delight it did. For the most part.
Roxley muttered something under his breath, and then caught her by the elbow and tugged her down the path. “Come along with you. Just don’t do that thing with your lashes again.” He frowned at her. “You are done up like a courtesan. If your mother could see you—”
“She’s in Kempton.”
“As should you be,” Roxley said, more as a threat. “I blame my aunt. She should never have brought you to London.” He glanced at her again. “It’s changed you.” Then he added, “And not for the better.”
“I see nothing scandalous about taking a walk in the gardens. I did this earlier with Lord Kipps and there was nothing so very wrong there. Why, your aunt encouraged it.”
“She did?” he said, sounding none-too-pleased.
They rounded the first corner and there was a couple—a water nymph and her Neptune—entwined beneath an arbor, kissing passionately, that is, between murmured endearments and confessions.
“My dearest, my darling—”
“Oh, however did you know it was me?”
“How could I not?”
“You see,” Roxley said once they were well past the other couple. “You are far better off out here with me than with Fieldgate.”
“Yes, I suppose.” She let every word fall with abject disappointment.
This brought the earl to a halt. “You suppose? Do you know what the rogue would do out here? Alone with you?”
Harriet shrugged. Truly, he had to ask? She had five brothers. She knew exactly what Fieldgate would do given the opportunity. But still, she did like to provoke Roxley. “I suppose he would have tried to kiss me—”
“Most decidedly,” Roxley said with a disapproving tsk, tsk and a shake of his head, as if that made him the hero.
“You truly think so?”
He huffed a sigh. “Of course he would. You wouldn’t have made it past the patio before he’d have tried.”
“Oh, that is excellent news,” she said, and turned on one heel and went marching back toward the ballroom.
Roxley caught up with her about where the couple was still locked in one another’s embrace. Discreetly, well as much as one could, he tugged her back down the path. “Where were you going?” he whispered as he dragged her away.
“I think that was obvious. To find the viscount.”
“Fielding?” Roxley couldn’t have sounded more shocked.
“Yes. Is there another lascivious viscount I’ve missed?”
Roxley’s jaw set as he caught hold of her once again and marched her farther down the path, through the long column of plane trees that lined the way.
Harriet could only hope this was the path to ruin, much as the other young lady had found.
“Why would you want that clod to kiss you?” he asked.
“Because I’ve never been kissed—and that lady—” she said with a nod over her shoulder, “who I believe is Miss Nashe—”
Now the earl’s head swiveled. “I highly doubt that’s—”
But then he must have realized that just as Harriet’s costume was so very memorable, so was the one Miss Nashe was wearing—of course, minus the feathered hem that had caused her so much trouble earlier in the week.
“Told you,” Harriet said triumphantly once they were well out of earshot. “That is Miss Nashe and Lord Kipps.”