Christine Merrill – A Kiss Away From Scandal (страница 10)

‘No!’

‘Miss Strickland. Miss Charity.’ Mr Drake had arrived unannounced, yet again, and was standing in the doorway, witnessing the whole embarrassing scene.

Hope pushed past her sister and grabbed him by the arm, trying to turn him towards the door. ‘We need to be going. Now, Mr Drake.’

‘Of course, Miss Strickland.’ He pulled free of her grasp and stepped ahead of her to open doors and ready the carriage.

The bustle of the next few moments, putting on coat and bonnet, allowed her time to recover from her mortification. It was bad enough that he had caught her arguing with her sister and even worse that she’d laid hands on his person and tried to drag him from the room. If he had arrived a few minutes earlier, he’d have heard a discourse on his appearance, talents and marriageability.

Or had he heard? She had no idea how long he had been standing there, watching them fight. She stared across the carriage at him, searching his face for any trace of awareness.

As usual, his perfect face was effortlessly composed. There was no sign of clenching in that finely planed jawline. No indication that his lips, which were both firm and full, had a smile hiding in the corners. And though his eyes were alert, like a hawk scanning the distance for prey, there was no indication that the mind behind them was ruminating on a scrap of overheard conversation.

As her sister had said, he really was uncommonly handsome. It was not as if Hope hadn’t noticed the fact yesterday. But now that she had a reason to study his face, it was rather like staring too long into the sun. Her cheeks felt hot and the image of him seemed to be embedded in her thoughts.

It was probably what came of staring. Ladies did not stare, even at people they wanted to look at. It was not Hope’s habit to do so. Perhaps it would be better to drop her eyes and peer at him through her lashes.

But that sounded rather like flirting. She did not mean to do that, either. It was good that she was veiled, so that he did not witness her, blushing over nothing and unsure where to rest her eyes. It did no good to look lower, at the immaculate shirt front visible beneath his coat, or at his strong hands, resting casually in his lap as if waiting for the moment when they would steady her departure from the carriage.

It was growing stuffy under the veil. That was likely why she could not seem to catch her breath. Though she could not think of a rule against it, holding one’s breath until it came out in sighs was probably as rude as staring. But now that her breathing had fallen from its normal rhythm, she could not seem to find it again. The first was too shallow, the next so deep that it sucked the veil into her mouth, which ended in a sputtering cough and the need to rip her bonnet away and gasp for fresh air.

Mr Drake glanced in her direction, surprised. It was clear he had not been thinking of her at all until she had called such mortifying attention to herself.

She cleared her throat and patted her chest lightly as if trying to clear her lungs. ‘A bit of lint. From the veil, I think.’

He nodded in sympathy. ‘You needn’t wear it in the carriage, if it makes you uncomfortable. The shades are down and there will be more than enough time to put it in place when we arrive at a shop.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, still not sure if she wished to give up her disguise just yet.

‘And, in case you have been wondering, your sister exaggerates. I did not find you overly proud on our first two meetings. Your behaviour towards me was well within the social norms.’

She had been right to worry. He had heard everything. Now, she was absolutely sure she was blushing at him. ‘I apologise for the behaviour you witnessed as you arrived, Mr Drake. And for seizing your arm and forcing you from the house, as well. And for Charity’s lies,’ she added, for that was what they had been.

‘It is I who owe you the apology,’ he reminded her. ‘While I did not intend to eavesdrop, that was the result of not announcing myself sooner.’ He offered a shrug and another smile. ‘And though I do not know from experience, I am given to understand that it is the job of younger siblings to be as aggravating as possible.’

‘You have none of your own, then?’ It was not her place to ask, although he had opened the subject himself, so perhaps it was not too very rude.

He shook his head. ‘No brothers or sisters at all. And so that Charity does not need to quiz me tomorrow, you can assure her that I am not married, as yet, but fully intend to do so, should I find the right woman.’

‘You heard everything, then.’

He nodded.

‘You must think us all quite horrid,’ she said. ‘My grandmother was a lax guardian, at best. Since she could not be bothered to teach her, it has been left to me to be a good example to my younger sister and to instruct her in ladylike behaviour. But I have had little success.’

‘Perhaps if you refrained from throwing candlesticks at her,’ he said.

‘It only happened the one time,’ she assured him, trying not to think of all the childhood stories Charity might tell him that would sound even worse. He might never have known of them had she been able to keep her mouth shut on the previous day. ‘We were rambunctious children when we arrived at the manor. At first, we did not understand the value of the items we played with. When we were old enough, Faith and I were sent away to school for a time.’

‘And Charity?’ he asked.

She sighed. ‘She said that, if we were not going to Eton, or some other place that would prepare us for university, it was not worth leaving the house. Her manners are abominable, of course. But she is too antisocial to bother with throwing candlesticks. And she is prodigiously smart.’

‘That is a comfort, I suppose,’ he said.

‘But it pains me that she did not go to Miss Pennyworth’s Academy to learn deportment. It improved my character immeasurably.’

He smiled and touched his arm, wincing in pain. ‘As I can tell from the way we took our leave of the town house.’

She readied another horrified apology. ‘That was most unlike me.’

‘It was nothing,’ he said in a soft voice that immediately put her at her ease. ‘Since you take your manners so seriously, it is unfair of me to tease you over them.’

She would have been better off to remain silent. Now, he thought her both overly proud and humourless. But either of those was better than being as nosy as her sister had been. ‘On the contrary, I do not fault you for any response you might give to the conversation you heard or my behaviour towards you. What you witnessed should never have taken place. As I told Charity, it is not our business to wonder about your personal life.’

‘I took it as a compliment,’ he replied, still smiling. ‘A total lack of interest can be rather dehumanising.’

She remembered the look he had given her in parting on the previous day, as if he had expected something more from her than an awkward goodbye. Had she been the one to treat him as less than a man? It was not as if she hadn’t been curious about him. It was just that ladies were not supposed to express it openly. But if he was willing to make light of the situation, then so should she. She gave him a friendly nod, hoping that it did not look as forced and awkward as it felt. ‘If it makes you feel better, I will ask you at least one impertinent question a day until we have completed out task.’

‘I will look forward to it, Miss Strickland,’ he said, nodding back. Then he touched his hat brim to remind her to replace her bonnet and veil. ‘As I mentioned before we parted yesterday, today we will be searching for the blue painting. I have several dealers in mind, specialising in fine art. I am sure your grandmother must have visited one of them.’

The paintings in the first gallery they visited would have been more at home in a museum than gracing the walls of Comstock Manor. The owner was obviously familiar with Mr Drake, plying him with offers of tea or sherry while Hope perused artwork. She allowed herself a few moments of guilty pleasure, wishing that she had the nerve to lie and claim even the smallest of the landscapes, for any of them were likely to be prettier than the painting they were truly seeking. Then she turned back to her companion and gave a silent shake of her head.

He rose and thanked the gallery owner, then led her back to the carriage.

The next place was similar. Mr Drake was still treated with familiarity, but there were no offers of refreshment. Though the art was not quite as impressive, it was still of a higher quality than Hope had seen at home. Again, she shook her head. And, again, they moved on.

With each successive shop they moved further from Bond Street until they stopped at a shop nearly as dreary as the one that had contained the candlesticks. The ragged collection of paintings stacked along the walls no longer hid Old Masters. A few were no better than girls’ school watercolours. But the shopkeeper followed close behind them, assuring them that the frames were worth ten bob at least.

Mr Drake shook his head. ‘The frames are not important. We are seeking an oil painting. Something with blue in it, I think, to match the paper on the drawing-room walls.’