Page 33 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

“I do hope you are not impugning my honour, Beau,” Stonehaven drawled.

“Oh, don’t pretend you’re offended,” Beau said impatiently. “Just mind your manners.”

“Yes, my Lord Beaumarsh,” Stonehaven said, bowing slightly.

Beau shook his head in exasperation and turned back to the carriage window, just as the vicarage came into sight.

He jumped down before the carriage had fully stopped, too impatient to wait for the footman to open the door and regarded the vicarage with approval. It was an enchanting building, the garden riotous with roses and wisteria and flowers he had no names for, all thronged with butterflies and bees. This delightful bucolic scene was shattered a moment later, however, by a blood-curdling scream from inside.

Beau and Stonehaven exchanged a glance before running for the gate. Beau pushed through ahead of Stonehaven, just as a small furry creature shot across the path ahead of them. It was closely followed by a woman running pell mell, skirts hiked to her knees.

“Come back here, you little beast!” she cried, a second before she collided with Beau.

The Vicarage, Little Valentine, South-East Coast of England. 9thJuly 1815

It was a dream, Clementine decided. No. Strike that. A nightmare. That’s what it was. Only in a nightmare would she run in such a hoydenish manner with her skirts bunched up, bellowing like a fishwife, and knock the Earl of Beaumarsh flat on his back in her front garden. If only George, their gardener, hadn’t left the watering can in that precise spot, Beaumarsh might have recovered his balance. If, if, if.

It wasn’t real, she assured herself.

Yet his chest felt remarkably solid as she pressed her hands against it and pushed in an effort to remove herself from his far too close proximity. Having never been so near to a male person of his lordship’s kind before, she was at once scandalised and intrigued. He seemed so much bigger when pressed flat against him, and harder. Stronger. The knowledge of how much strength resided in the musculature of that broad chest made her heart skip. Heat rushed to all parts of her body and an odd sensation deep in her belly unsettled her further. She dared not look at him, could only imagine the horror with which he was regarding her, and yet her eyes were drawn inexorably to his. Blue, blue, indigo blue was all she could think for a moment. Blue as the sea and the sky and… and crinkling at the corners as his chest began to shake.

The devil!

He was laughing at her.

Horrified, Clementine recommenced her struggle to get upright and found herself hauled easily to her feet. Turning in surprise, she found a large man regarding her with a smile that was far too knowing for her comfort.

“Miss Honeywell, I presume?” he said, his voice deadpan.

Dreadfully flustered now, Clementine took a moment to smooth her skirts, lamenting the fact she was wearing her oldest and most faded gown. Well, yes, of course she would be. In what reality would she ever be prepared for the arrival of two handsome noblemen by wearing her best gown and being perfectly composed? None that she had ever lived in, that was for certain. She tried to rearrange her hair, which was a lost cause, as the man reached down to take his friend's hand and pulled Beaumarsh to his feet. The devil was still laughing, drat him, but she supposed it might be worse.

“I beg your pardon, my lord, I was not expecting you,” she said, flushed with mortification.

“I d-dread to think what you might have done if you had been expecting me,” Beaumarsh managed, wiping his eyes.

Clementine scowled at him, trying hard not to think about how it had felt to lie atop him, for that would not help in the least. “I did not do it on purpose. One of our kittens caught a mouse. I have been trying to train it to bring them to me alive, but so far, I have had little success.”

“You wished for the cat to deliver the mouse to you alive?” the unknown man repeated, looking intrigued. “Whatever for?”

“So it is not dead,” Clementine replied reasonably.

The fellow turned to Beaumarsh and grinned. “Now I see,” he said, after which incomprehensible remark the earl’s mirth vanished, and he sent his friend a warning look Clementine could not fathom.

“Have you come to visit my father?” Clementine asked, trying to get this nonsensical meeting onto a more reasonable footing, for she could not understand why else he might turn up out of the blue like this. Surely, he had not come to visit her? The thought made her spirits lift momentarily, though she knew it was foolish.

“Yes, actually,” Lord Beaumarsh replied with a smile that reminded her of all the reasons she ought to keep her feet on the ground.

“And you and your charming sisters,” his companion added before Beaumarsh could continue.

Clementine prayed she had in no way revealed her disappointment and glanced at him. He offered her a smile that was as wicked as it was appealing and, rather than feeling embarrassed, Clementine felt herself smile in response. He was not as handsome as Lord Beaumarsh, his features harsher and more rugged, but he was certainly attractive, and didn’t he know it.

“Is your father home?” Beaumarsh asked, forcing her to turn away from his friend. A teasing smile played around his mouth and Clementine’s stomach dropped. Was he aware of the outrageous thoughts she’d had when they’d been entangled so intimately? Oh, Lord. She hoped not. She looked away from him, unable to withstand the encouraging warmth she saw there, for surely she would blush and stammer like a ninny if he kept on. Instead, she kept her tone brusque and businesslike and avoided looking at him altogether.

“He is, and shall be most pleased to see you and…?” She trailed off, aware they still had not been introduced.

“My apologies,” the earl said at once. “Miss Honeywell, may I present Lord Stonehaven? Stonehaven, Miss Honeywell.”

“Charmed,” Stonehaven said, taking her hand and bowing over it.