And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,44
turned the cart around—certainly not with Crispin’s skill, but well enough—she turned to him. “He has a right to be concerned.”
Lord Henry snorted.
“You are a Seldon.”
“And you are a Dale.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
One of his brows tipped into a high arch.
“Yes, right,” she agreed, recalling how this very same disagreement had gotten them into trouble at the ball—a path neither of them wished to travel down again . . . or so she thought.
“I might add though—” Lord Henry began.
Daphne set her jaw. Of course he couldn’t leave well enough alone.
But what Lord Henry said next shocked her. Utterly.
“If you were my cousin, I would not have left you in my care but followed you back to Owle Park to make sure you were well chaperoned. Your cousin is an overly proud fool.” He gave a disapproving shake of his head and said no more. Not that he needed to.
He was right, of course. And she glanced over her shoulder, where there was no sign of Crispin racing to her rescue.
Daphne drew her shawl around her shoulders a bit tighter, hoping to stave off the shivers. And this time it had nothing to do with the impending rain.
“You did give your word, as a gentleman,” she reminded him.
“Do you trust my word?” he asked, not looking at her. “Because I hardly trust yours.”
She flinched. As well she should.
“Yes, of course my family approves,” he mimicked from earlier. “My family doesn’t mind in the least.” He glanced over at her. “Is that still your story?”
She pressed her lips together and refused to speak. She certainly wasn’t going to tell Lord Henry why she had dared to come to a Seldon wedding.
Why she had defied her entire family.
“Yes, well, when the Dale clan arrives, armed to the teeth and looking for blood, I for one am not going to stand firm over your folly,” he declared. “If I have any say in the matter, they will find you at the front gate, with your bags packed and a note pinned to your pelisse with directions to the nearest madhouse.”
After a few moments of driving in silence, Daphne let out a long sigh. “Are you finished?”
“Yes, quite,” he admitted.
“Then you should know that you missed the turn back there.” She nodded toward the narrow track that ran off the road. “If you continue on this course, we shall be lost. Again.”
“Not in the least. This is a shortcut,” he told her. “I promised to see you safely back to Owle Park, and I shall. No matter what you opine, I am a gentleman and a man of honor.”
Now it was Daphne’s turn to let out a snort.
Pompous, arrogant know-it-all. He was going to get them lost.
And just for those reasons, she didn’t argue the fact. She rather liked the idea of proving him wrong.
Utterly.
At least she did until the clouds opened up and emptied their bounty all over her lovely new gown.
The folly appeared on the rise before them just at the point when Henry was about to have to concede to Miss Dale that she’d been correct.
He’d gotten them lost.
Utterly.
But then they had turned a corner, and as he’d dashed the rain out of his eyes, there it had appeared—the stone rotunda his grandfather, the seventh duke, had built after his Grand Tour.
“Come now, let’s get out of this,” he said, pulling the horse to a stop and catching hold of her hand.
Her fingers were like ice, and he glanced over at her.
Just as her cousin, Lord Dale, had predicted, her gown was drenched, ruined. Ignoring the twinge of guilt—for no gentleman should let a lady end up in such a state—they dashed toward the covered pavilion, hand in hand, dancing over puddles and around the larger rivulets of water rushing over the path.
Mr. Muggins had needed no urging and was already ahead of them, shaking the rain out of his fur in a wild flurry of droplets.
By the time Henry and Miss Dale had climbed the wide steps and gotten out from the drenching downpour, the dog had already found a dry spot beneath one of the benches and lain down, head on his paws.
As for the two of them, they came to a halt in the middle, and save for the heavy pattering of rain all around them, it was as if the countryside had stilled.
Henry didn’t know quite what to say or do—but when he glanced over at Miss Dale, he realized two things.