With This Ring (10 page)

“Although you really ought to have the parasol, cousin,” she told Elektra gravely.
“You already have three freckles on your nose.”

Aaron saw Elektra flinch, but thought better of reassuring her that he found them quite attractive.
Hastings wouldn’t bother.
Sometimes it was a bloody relief not to be a gentleman!

When they arrived at the Green Donkey Inn, a mere half an hour later at the pony’s brisk trot, Elektra hopped off and made for the back of the building.

“Ask for the maid Edith,” she’d ordered Bliss.
“Tell her to meet me back there and help me sneak back to my room.”

Aaron lost track of the ladies at that moment, for standing next to the stables he spied the mud-splashed wreck that used to be his very nearly impressive carriage.

Oh, hell.

He could have sworn it had once had four wheels, not three.
And he certainly would have noticed previously if there had been a door missing.
The other one was still there, although with the broken cant of the carriage, it hung dismally from one hinge as though it were considering putting an end to it all.

He knew the feeling.
How was he to go on now?
He’d put everything he had into that carriage, in order to arrive at Arbodean in style.
Now he’d be lucky to arrive at all!
As Aaron stood there, his jaw dropped in shock and dismay, he was joined by the cheeky young groom.

“Aye, it’s a rum’un, ain’t it?”
The boy scratched his bare head, and Aaron dimly realized where he’d seen Miss Elektra’s cap before.
“Them horses come flyin’ back into the yard after midnight, draggin’ that old thing on its side, neighing like the devil himself was after them!
It were a sight, I tell you.”

Aaron swallowed hard.
“I’ll wager it were.”
He turned to the groom in sudden concern.
“Are the horses all right?”

The boy made a face.
“Filthy nags are just fine, sorry to say.
Kicked and bit all the while we was cleanin’ ’em up.
All your master’s horses are right bastards, you know.
Like that great hammer-headed brute y’left behind.
That’un’s got a mean streak as wide as this valley!”

I still have a horse.

Relief swept Aaron.
The “gentleman’s mount” had been for show, but now all Aaron cared about was getting on his way to Arbodean—and getting away from Miss Elektra Worthington before her army of brothers came looking for him.

That’s why you’re running away? Fear of the brothers? Or fear of the sister?

“Can’t it be both?”
Aaron murmured.

“What’s that?”

Aaron turned to the young groom.
“I’ll be needing to saddle that hammer-head now.”

The groom shrugged.
“Go ahead.
No business of mine.”
He stuck a straw in his mouth and strolled away.

Right.
He was not his lordship today.
Today he was Hastings, who saddled his own damn horse.
Either way, both Hastings and Lord Aaron needed to get away from this place as fast as they could!

*   *   *

It hadn’t taken Elektra long to realize that she and Bliss could not stay alone at the inn without Lysander.
There was also some urgency to make their way back to London before all the Worthington men worked themselves into some sort of Knights of the Overturned Table chest-beating frenzy and set out for Shropshire to rupture a few spleens.

So as soon as she’d stripped off her muddy kidnapping togs and Edith had efficiently buttoned her back into actual girl clothes, she fled back out into the inn, stopping to pull on her damp walking boots at the top of the stairs.

With no thought to decorum, she ran full-tilt down the stairs while twisting her hair into a self-contained bun at the back of her neck.
Oh, she must hurry before—

As she burst through the front door of the inn, she saw Mr.
Hastings in the yard with one foot in the stirrup getting back on the journey that had been so rudely interrupted.

Oh, no! He was getting away!

“Hastings!
Wait!”

He didn’t seem to hear her, although the young fellow holding the reins turned to stare at her pell-mell rush across the cobbles of the yard.

“Mr.
Hastings!
Please, wait!”

He lifted his head then.
When he turned to look behind him, she saw a rather familiar desperate glaze of male apprehension in his eyes.
Her brothers had that look sometimes.
Elektra decided to be charming.

She slowed her progress and pasted a prim little smile on her lips.

Suddenly Elektra couldn’t meet Mr.
Hastings’s gaze.
She’d managed to distract herself on the journey back to the inn by concentrating on the massive inconvenience that was Bliss Worthington.

Bliss had better clothes, a better bosom, bluer eyes, and from all appearances a far greater financial incentive for her suitors.
How was she, Elektra, supposed to stand side by side with Bliss and not be outshone?

Of course, Elektra knew her doting parents had no idea what they’d done to her.
They probably thought she needed a friend, a bosom companion upon the road of Society.

This welcome indignation had done much to soothe Elektra’s mortification over Mr.
Hastings and his kisses.
Handsome or not, Mr.
Hastings lacked a few natural-born advantages that Elektra desperately needed.
Enormous wealth and impeccable standing, no handsome face required.

Now, however, Elektra had no choice but to look at that handsome face directly.
“I fear I must ask one more favor of you, sir.”

His expression was wary.
He cast a longing look over the horse’s saddle at the open road before him.
“What’s that, miss?”

“I must beg your indulgence for a few more days.
Miss Bliss Worthington and I must make our way back to London at once—and we cannot do this alone.”

His eyes widened, and she saw him swallow.
“I—It’s—” His gaze darted back and forth from her to the road he’d been mere seconds from gaining.
“But—”

Urgency made Elektra’s patience slip ever so slightly awry.
“Well, you cannot very well leave two ladies alone!
It would—it would be—
irresponsible
!”

Well, perhaps that was going a bit far, as evidenced by his sudden flush of fury.
“Irresponsible?
Me, the irresponsible one?”
He released the saddle and turned fully upon her.
“You and your criminal brother think you can do anything you like—with no thought for the consequences!
You don’t care who y’hurt!”

Stung, Elektra lifted her chin.
“I am not a criminal!
I am a Worthington!”

“What’s the difference, eh?”

She gaped at him, her face flushed with fury.

Aaron couldn’t hold it back any longer.
He was bloody tired from his night in the ruin—and he was still reeling from the jolt of seeing Miss Elektra Worthington all washed up, in a fetching little frock that made a man want to fall on his knees and beg.
“Because from where I stand, the two o’ you are on a fast road to Newgate Prison, with time for a quick stop at Bedlam!”

“I explained all of that!”
She folded her arms over her chest.
“There’s no need to get snippy.”

“You forget, don’t you?
The man you thought to trap with your little plan is my own master!
His lordship doesn’t deserve that fate, wedded to you.
No man does!
You’re a selfish little horror, with no more thought for others than a house cat!”

She glared at him.
“What could you possibly know about me?”

He sneered.
“I know y’think nothing of kidnappin’ and assaultin’ some poor man into marriage!
If a man did that, he’d go to prison and rightly so!”

She set her jaw at a mulish angle.
“I had my reasons.”

“Shallow, silly reasons!
Lookin’ above your station, that’s what!”
He eyed her with disdain.
“What makes you think a man would be thankful to wed such a hellish female as yourself anyway?
Sure, you’re as lovely as a perfect morning—but then you have to go and open your bloomin’ mouth.”

“You think—” She closed her mouth and stared at him strangely.

“What?”
Wait a moment.
What had he said?
Oh, hell.
He’d told her he thought her beautiful.
Damn.
Still, it was bound to come out sooner or later.
It could hardly come as a surprise to her.
She owned a mirror, after all.

She was still frowning at him.
“That was … poetic, Mr.
Hastings.
Especially for a—”

Oddly, he bristled in defense of the real Hastings.
“You think a man needs toff parents to have a soul?
I haven’t any parents at all and I can appreciate a song or a poem as well as the next man.”

“Or a perfect morning.”
A tiny smile curved the corners of her lovely mouth.

“Aye!
I—” Damn it, she’d done it again.
He gritted his teeth.
He would not feed her vanity further.
“A statement of fact ain’t a poem, miss.
Birds fly, fish swim, you’re a right looker, the end.”

Still that smile teased at her lips.
“Mr.
Hastings, I do believe you like me a little.”

He threw up his hands and gazed at the sky.
The perfect morning mocked him, even as the hellcat let out a soft gurgle of laughter that ran up his spine and made his scalp tingle.

“You’re me worst nightmare come to life.
I no more like you than I like a bad cold!
You both take three days to get shut of!”

Her smile gentled further.
“Mr.
Hastings, now you claim to be infected by me.”

“That—you—I—” His throat closed in fury and no small amount of alarm.
Could she be right?
Could her wry humor and her quick wit—and yes, her lovely face!—be getting under his skin?

Elektra felt a giggle start to rise at the look of pure horror in the poor man’s eyes.
She ought not to tease him so.
It just made what she needed all the harder to ask for.

She would not beg.
Not him.
Not ever.

Unless, of course, it would get her away from the scene of her crime, away from the memory of her failure, away from the ruins of Worthington Manor and all the significance of that pile of rubble that so symbolized her family’s fall from status.

“Fine!
I’ll beg, if that will satisfy you!”

He seemed only more alarmed by that, and held up both hands in self-defense.
“No, really, miss!”

Speak softly, before he runs away!
“I’m sorry.
You are perfectly correct.
It was all such an awful, terrible idea.
I regret it deeply.”
That part was no lie, to be sure.
“Mr.
Hastings,” she begged with all the sweetness she could muster, “will you please, please accompany Miss Bliss Worthington and myself on the road back to London?”

She even clasped her hands before her.
She batted her eyelashes.
She
begged
.
Her brothers would be agog.

Mr.
Hastings only twitched, as if he could not decide whether to stay or run for his life.
She watched him carefully, noting the moment when he realized that there was no possible way he could honorably leave two ladies to travel on their own.

He let out a long breath, then made a deep and gentlemanly bow to both her and Bliss.
“It would be an honor, Miss Worthington, Miss Worthington.”

Elektra blinked at the graciousness of his acceptance.
For a moment, he almost could have passed as the real Lord Aaron Arbogast.
Then he ruined that brief impression by stepping closer to her and whispering in her ear.

“Ye know ye’re ruinin’ my life, ye demented li’l criminal!”

Oh, excellent!
Now she no longer had to pretend to be sweet!
Elektra raised her chin and bared her teeth in his face.
“Thank you, dear sir!
Your assistance is greatly appreciated!”

She turned away from him and swept a graceful hand toward the waiting Bliss.
“Come along, cousin!”
she trilled.
“Let us go refresh ourselves at the inn.
Mr.
Hastings has graciously agreed to manage everything.”
She turned to shoot him a smile of pure rage over her shoulder.
She knew her fury translated, for she saw his eyes narrow and his lips thin in response.

Satisfied that she’d scored evenly, if not gained a length ahead, Elektra showed more teeth.
“Absolutely
everything
!”

Chapter Eight

Aaron stared at the retreating back of the most infuriating female ever born to the human race.
What had he just done?

I think you are on your way to London.

Was he that much of an idiot, that a pair of fluttering green-blue eyes and a pair of dainty hands clasped before a truly delicious bosom could make him throw away everything he’d worked so hard for over the last decade?

He passed a hand over his face, trying to pull himself together.
In the darkness behind his lids, he once again saw that delicious bosom in that rain-soaked shirt, felt the touch of those dainty hands in his hair, saw those eyelids flutter closed when she pressed her soft, warm lips to his—

He wasn’t the first man to be an idiot for a pretty woman.
Maybe not even the first man to be an idiot for a pretty criminal!

He was, however, quite sure that he was the first man to throw away a hundred thousand pounds and the regard of his last remaining family just to be the beast of burden for a pretty criminal!

Although if all criminals looked like Miss Elektra Worthington, there might be a few more fools like him about.

Fine.
He’d agreed to do this unimaginably distressing thing—namely, toss his mission aside and trot back down the road to the one place he ought to avoid like the plague!—but he would drop in on Hastings first and fill him in on the new plan … if one could call following Miss Anarchy Worthington around like a lapdog a plan.

*   *   *

If Aaron’s manservant thought there was anything odd about his employer scrambling into his room through the open window, he didn’t comment.
Aaron had to grin.
Trusty Hastings!

Hastings listened to Aaron’s latest adventure with nary a guffaw, but that might have been due to his sore throat.
He offered Aaron a cup of his broth, which Aaron politely declined.
Hastings shrugged and took a slurping sip.
“My Edith is a right good cook!”
he exclaimed hoarsely.
“Ah!”

Aaron narrowed his eyes.
“Hastings, you are not here to flirt with the maidservants.”