Page 48 of Unmasking the Earl

On the far side of the puddle he set her on her feet, but found he didn’t want to relinquish his hold on her. He took her hand and placed it on his arm. She tried to pull away, but he laid his other hand over hers to prevent it.

“Ned,” she said softly. “You forget yourself. You’re still supposed to be playing the part of a servant, are you not?”

“Can a servant not support his mistress if she’s tired? Anyway, there’s no one here to see us but the skylarks and gadflies.”

“And possibly your sister,” she reminded him. “The old woman’s cottage should be coming up soon.”

The mention of his sister instantly doused his selfish desires. “I can’t decide if I want it to be Georgiana or not. If it is her, living in abject poverty and ruin, I may have to break my promise to you and call out Wycherley,” he said grimly. “Or kill him outright.”

A tut of disapproval emerged from the bonnet. “I don’t understand why you are so convinced Captain Wycherley is a villain,” she said. “The only real evidence you have against him is Georgiana’s name in a book.”

“I think her use of the term ‘dearest’ in her inscription is good evidence of a relationship between them. As Wycherley has not quit the country, I have to assume Georgiana is alive but in hiding. Presumably in the place named in the inscription. Although there may be any number of places called Aston, which means we are very likely on a fool’s errand.”

“But think rationally about it for a moment,” Cassie urged him. “If she fell in love with him, and somehow escaped the terrible fire, then moved to Aston for whatever reason—”

“Because he’d ruined her.”

“But then she sent him a book of love poems in which she called him dearest? No. She cannot possibly be at odds with the man!” she finished exasperatedly. “If he had used her ill, either before or after the fire, would she be employing such affectionate language?”

Ned stopped in midstride. Good God. That had simply not occurred to him. Georgiana had been sundered from friends and family—presumably by Wycherley—yet she still wrote to him in terms of endearment.

“She may well love, or have loved the captain,” he said with a frown. “But his conduct since her disappearance— No, I’ll not sully your ears with tales of his libertine behavior.”

“You’re like a terrier with a bone,” she muttered.

He put her hand back through his arm and started walking again. “It is a beautiful day, Cassie. Let us not spoil it by being at odds. Clearly, you like Wycherley and are determined to defend him against all aspersions.”

“No, I merely believe he can have genuine feelings for a woman. He was decidedly jealous when Julian was flirting with Lady Lucy.”

“I’m afraid a man being jealous does not necessarily signify any great love for the lady. It is more a case of needing to conquer a rival.”

As he’d been jealous of Wycherley mauling Miss Blythe. He could admit that to himself now.

“There’s no need to scowl. You said you didn’t wish to fight with me, but you are arguing nonetheless.”

She was looking up at him, one eyebrow arched questioningly, a slight hitch to the corner of her mouth. Curse that tempting mouth! He wanted to press his lips to it, explore its shape again, in a far more leisurely fashion this time.

Yes, definitely jealous.

He clamped his jaw. “I need to know more about your Mr. Carnforth. What is it about him that makes your heart skip a beat and inspires undying love?”

There was a long pause, during which nothing could be heard but the crunch of their feet on the lane and the repetitive call of a chaffinch from a hawthorn bush.

“It’s hard to say,” she said at length. “I’ve known him from childhood. We played. He let me ride on his rocking-horse, and when he had his first full-grown steed, he sat me on the saddle in front of him so I could admire his riding skills.”

“Very romantic, I’m sure,” Ned replied, unable to keep the sarcasm from his tone. He couldn’t forget that Carnforth cared nothing for Cassie, and the knowledge that she was wasting her affection on such an undeserving recipient gnawed at his heart.

“When he went off to school, I missed him terribly, and when he came back he looked so grown up. I was so full of admiration for all he was learning, I felt I would burst. As he grew older, he became such a dandy.”

Ned bit back a contemptuous snort. The man sounded a complete prig. Having met him, though, Ned knew him to be a personable one, at least.

Cassie chuckled, and he smiled down at her, but she was hidden in her bonnet, staring straight ahead, her mind locked on the past. He regretted having opened the subject. But soldiered on.

“And you have continued to admire him,” he said.

But not love him. He had heard nothing yet that sounded remotely like love.

“He won all kinds of prizes at Oxford. He dances well, sings divinely, plays the pianoforte—”