Page 66 of The Smuggler’s Escape

They reached the stables, where the greys were ready hitched to the curricle. He helped her into the seat. At last Noelle asked, “She doesn’t want to marry you?”

“God help us both, no, she doesn’t,” Richard said. “She’s a sweet, shy little bluestocking. We would drive one another mad.”

“She didn’t seem shy to me,” Noelle said. “She was perfect and well-mannered.” Pause. “Until she supported my comment about prostitutes.”

“That was desperation speaking,” Richard said. “She’ll do anything to avoid marrying me.” He paused. “The problem is, it seems that you will, too.”

Daniel Davison took advantage of his standing invitation to dine at Boltwood Manor. He really did seem head over tipstaff for Dorothea Darsington, who with her charming manners spent an hour with him poring over a book on the history of heraldry.

Richard, meanwhile, remained unflaggingly attentive to Noelle. Of course, since his attention almost always involved touching her, surreptitiously or not, she had no illusions about his motives. “Stop it!” she hissed. “How can you think of such things when your poor mother is at the mercy of Lady Darsington?”

“My mother could have told her not to come,” Richard said.

“She couldn’t withdraw an invitation!”

“She didn’t invite her. Lady Darsington wrote and told her she was coming down. Mama could have bolted to one of my other estates, or toddled up to London and pretended the letter arrived after she left.”

“Your mother is much too polite to do any such thing! In any event, she must remain here for the funeral.”

“My mother is far too polite for her own good. She not only let the woman come, she put her own favorite carpet and furniture in the best bedchamber as if Lady Darsington was an honored guest.” Richard waved a languid hand. “She made her bed . . .”

Noelle felt herself grow crimson. “She did not! Lady Darsington did. And if you had an ounce of proper feeling, you would let me out of the bed that I definitely do not want to lie in.”

Richard smirked.

Noelle pulled herself together. “We’ll offer to play whist. You will partner Lady Darsington. That way your mother won’t get the brunt of her criticism.”

“Oh, no,” Richard said. “You, my sweet, will have that privilege.”

Noelle made a face. “She sneers at me.”

“She won’t when she sees how well you play.”

She ground her teeth. “I refuse to waste money playing whist or any other game.”

“I’ll back you. You keep what you win, and if you lose, I absorb the losses.”

First he was paying exorbitantly for her supposed favors, and now this. His generosity was killing her. “Either way, you lose. That’s not fair.”

“I like spending money on you, my sweet. I also like to have my way.”

The innuendo was killing her, too.

“D’accord,” she said, and kept her attention so fiercely on the cards that an hour later Lady Darsington begrudgingly complimented Noelle on her skill.

“Play piquet with her tomorrow,” Richard told Lady Darsington. “That’s even more fun.”

Tomorrow, Noelle feared, nothing would be fun. She would be preparing to leave. She stood, pleading a headache. She’d had enough.

Richard’s amusement faded. Oh, no you don’t, his expression said.

Noelle jutted her chin and headed for the door. Dorothea too rose, citing fatigue. Together they mounted the stairs. Noelle had been pondering a new problem all evening: how to help Dorothea avoid marrying Richard. She had to help her now, for once Noelle disappeared, he would be fair game for Lady Darsington’s scheming.

A brilliant notion struck her. “Oh!” Noelle cried. “I forgot about Johnny. I wonder which room is his. It’s next to Richard’s, but I don’t know where that is either.”

“Who is Johnny?”

“Johnny Magee. He’s a tinker, and one of my favorite people,” Noelle said. “Which bedchambers are yours and your mother’s?”