Page 10 of Scandal’s Daughter

Chapter 5

“Wherein the fates toy with the future.”

It was five days before he saw her again. The day after meeting his little firebrand in the cave the weather closed in and no one in their right mind would have set foot outside the door. Ruefully, Sebastian had to wonder if the witch had been right and he was unhinged, for it was all he could do not to make the attempt no matter what the vagaries of this strange summer’s weather could throw at him. The day after that was stormy and threatening but he went out nonetheless, returning to the cave, though he’d have been almost disappointed if she had been there, and then spending hours scouring every inch of the countryside.

He repeated the exercise every following day and had to bite his tongue to stop himself asking for her by name in case he caused her trouble. He well knew his own, or rather Beau’s reputation, and he wouldn’t have her ruined for nothing but an enquiry. But the vision of the stunning red head with her sharp tongue and pretty brown eyes plagued him every moment that followed that stormy afternoon. So, it was with an inward crow of triumph that he caught a flash of fox-coloured hair out of the corner of his eye as he rode out, uncharacteristically early, on a sunny autumn morning.

He paused for a moment, admiring the bucolic scene before him. She sat on a picnic blanket on a high ledge of rock at the edge of a meadow, with a sketch book and pencil in hand. Her bonnet had been laid aside and her hair was all askew, tumbling in glorious red swathes down her back. Dismounting and leaving his mount to crop grass, he stole quietly closer to see more. The indomitable Conrad lay dozing beside her and Sebastian could see an endearing frown of concentration on her face as she struggled with the scenery laid out before her. He crept closer behind her, noticing the hopeless dog didn’t so much as blink, looked over her shoulder and tried to smother his laughter. Taking a breath once he’d righted himself, he asked gravely, “Is that a cow or a horse?”

“Oh!” Squealing in shock she dropped her pad and looked up at him in horror, while Conrad awoke and began to jump up at him with excitement. “You!” she uttered, managing to infuse the word with such fury he couldn’t help but grin.

“I told you I would find you, Miss Bomford.”

“How dare you?” she hissed, looking around her in alarm.

“Oh, don’t worry, we are quite alone,” he added, grinning at her. “No one for miles, as I’m sure you know. Oh, and how dare I? Well, as I kissed you last time we met I don’t see why you should think me incapable of a little excitement.”

“Abominable creature!”

He laughed and sat down beside her, shaking his head.

“Pax, Miss Bomford. Please, I beg you, let us at least try to be civil. I swear I will if you do. Surely we can speak a few words without insulting each other at every turn?”

“I sincerely doubt it,” she remarked, those brown, no they were green eyes, flashing. She reached to pick up her pad again, but he was too fast for her and snatched it up. Frowning he looked out at the scenery and back at the pad and then at Georgiana, one eyebrow raised. She huffed, her pale skin flushing in the most becoming manner.

“I know I can’t draw,” she replied, sounding miffed and intensely embarrassed. “I never have been able to, only ...”

He smiled at her, hoping his expression was as warm and friendly as he wanted it to be. He didn’t want her to run away again. “Only?” he repeated.

She huffed and tried to snatch the pad back. “Only I enjoy trying. It never looks how it should but ... but I find it absorbing.”

He tugged the pad from her reluctant grasp once again, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth? “Is that a cow?” he asked, unable to keep the laughter from his voice.

“You know very well it’s a horse, my lord,” she replied with dignity, though he held onto a suspicion that there was mirth in her eyes, lurking just out of sight.

“What else do you enjoy?” he asked, curious now, allowing her to tug the pad from his grasp.

Frowning at him he watched as she warred with herself, wondering whether she would be as brave as he suspected she was.

“I-I like to read,” she said, and her eyes drifted, he suspected unwillingly, to the wicker basket.

“What do you like to read?” he asked, wondering if she would admit to a love of novels or imply she read something far worthier and dull. It was frowned upon by most for young ladies of quality to rot their mind with such nonsense, though he himself could never fathom why, having been just as diverted himself. He had been accustomed to being given a list of far more serious titles while strongly suspecting the lady in question was more inclined to read a sensational romance, though none would ever admit it to him. He was surprised then when she reached into the basket and withdrew a tattered copy of A Sicilian Romance.

“Mrs Radcliffe,” he said, his tone approving.

“You’ve read her?” She looked so astonished that he had to chuckle.

“Did you think I would scold you and tell you to apply yourself to something more serious?” He turned the well-loved copy in his hands, smiling. “I suppose I’ve been cast as the Duke de Luovo?”

He saw the corner of her mouth twitch though she managed to repress the smile that threatened. He determined he would make her smile yet.

“Perhaps,” she admitted, her green ... no they were brown eyes glimmering. “I’m not sure yet.”

“You mean I still have a chance at being the heroic Hippolitus?” he demanded.

“Certainly not!” she replied, holding out her hand in an imperious manner. He handed the book back to her and was charmed when she cast him a shy look, adding, “Though I have to say, I think Hippolitus is the most ridiculous name for a hero.”

He nodded, picking a strand of grass that was bobbing in the breeze beside him. “Quite unsuitable,” he agreed with all seriousness.