right on her heels, close enough to catch hold of her. Then as luck would have it, right as he reached his hand out, Miss Langley tripped again in her elegant slippers and he hadn’t time to avoid her, falling and tumbling over her a second time.
This chit is going to be the death of me . Either by breaking my neck or driving me mad with passion. But before he could decide which it would be, there was a new spate of barking and growling from Brutus.
This time near the entrance of the hedge.
The entrance? How the devil had the fellow found his way out so quickly?
Miss Langley must have been of the same opinion, for she cursed, in Russian no less, much as her sister had done before, and while a vicar would probably admonish her for such a sin, along with a host of other indiscretions, his focus was on a more pressing problem.
Dashwell was escaping. For once the wily fellow gained the park, he could hie away to just about any cubbyhole on the duke’s vast estate, escaping like a fleet-footed fox eluding the hounds.
He leaned down, and ignoring Miss Langley’s hand which she held outstretched for help in getting up, plucked his knife out of his boot, ignored her surprised gasp and spun around to retrace his steps.
To hell with gentlemanly obligations, she could untangle herself and get to her feet without him, he thought, as he sped away.
“Mr. Ryder, what do you intend to do?” she whispered after him, as he turned the corner and headed for the opening, where Brutus was growling as if he had the entire French army on the retreat.
And in retreat his unseen adversary was, for when Larken reached the opening, whoever it was had escaped.
Near the shadowy trees at the edge of the lawn, the thunder of hooves betrayed that whoever it was, they were making their speedy escape, and would be long gone before Larken could call for his own mount and give chase.
But they hadn’t gotten completely away, for Brutus sat there with a prize of his own.
A boot, which he proudly held by the heel.
And when Larken knelt down to examine it, he had his second shock of the evening.
The boot was no Hessian. No worn, rough shoe of a sailor.
Rather the low-heeled sort worn by a woman.
A woman? Whatever would a woman be doing lurking about Hollindrake’s house party?
“Madness,” he muttered.
“Pardon?” Miss Langley said from behind him. She came forward and looked around. “Oh, how inconsiderate! You let them get away.”
“Not by choice,” he told her, ignoring the urge to throttle his hands around her throat. Let them get away, indeed! If it weren’t for her and those demmed ridiculous, ungainly shoes of hers, he would have caught the devil. “However, Brutus managed to steal this.” He held up the boot for her.
“Oh, dear heavens,” she gasped, staggering back from it, her hands coming to cover her mouth.
“’Tis only a boot,” he said.
“Yes, I know that, Mr. Ryder. That just happens to be my boot.”
Chapter 6
W hat do you mean Hollindrake’s cousin was watching our windows?” Pippin whispered the next morning as she and Tally moved along the sideboard, selecting their breakfast from the well-laden platters of food before them.
A bountiful change from their days on Brook Street, Tally mused, as she followed behind her cousin.
“You heard me correctly. Mr. Ryder is here to spy on us,” she whispered back, glancing over her shoulder at the rest of the room and realized how so much had changed in the last six months. Here they were, huddled over the sideboard, whispering in secret because now there was always company and servants about at mealtimes. A vast change from taking trays in the salon of their empty house off Grosvenor Square—the only room they could afford to heat—or down in the kitchen with Mrs. Hutchinson near the stove.
“Bah!” Pippin sputtered, drawing the attention of the other occupants, Lady Charles, Lady Geneva, and Lady Standon.
Tally shot her an aggrieved look and lowered
This chit is going to be the death of me . Either by breaking my neck or driving me mad with passion. But before he could decide which it would be, there was a new spate of barking and growling from Brutus.
This time near the entrance of the hedge.
The entrance? How the devil had the fellow found his way out so quickly?
Miss Langley must have been of the same opinion, for she cursed, in Russian no less, much as her sister had done before, and while a vicar would probably admonish her for such a sin, along with a host of other indiscretions, his focus was on a more pressing problem.
Dashwell was escaping. For once the wily fellow gained the park, he could hie away to just about any cubbyhole on the duke’s vast estate, escaping like a fleet-footed fox eluding the hounds.
He leaned down, and ignoring Miss Langley’s hand which she held outstretched for help in getting up, plucked his knife out of his boot, ignored her surprised gasp and spun around to retrace his steps.
To hell with gentlemanly obligations, she could untangle herself and get to her feet without him, he thought, as he sped away.
“Mr. Ryder, what do you intend to do?” she whispered after him, as he turned the corner and headed for the opening, where Brutus was growling as if he had the entire French army on the retreat.
And in retreat his unseen adversary was, for when Larken reached the opening, whoever it was had escaped.
Near the shadowy trees at the edge of the lawn, the thunder of hooves betrayed that whoever it was, they were making their speedy escape, and would be long gone before Larken could call for his own mount and give chase.
But they hadn’t gotten completely away, for Brutus sat there with a prize of his own.
A boot, which he proudly held by the heel.
And when Larken knelt down to examine it, he had his second shock of the evening.
The boot was no Hessian. No worn, rough shoe of a sailor.
Rather the low-heeled sort worn by a woman.
A woman? Whatever would a woman be doing lurking about Hollindrake’s house party?
“Madness,” he muttered.
“Pardon?” Miss Langley said from behind him. She came forward and looked around. “Oh, how inconsiderate! You let them get away.”
“Not by choice,” he told her, ignoring the urge to throttle his hands around her throat. Let them get away, indeed! If it weren’t for her and those demmed ridiculous, ungainly shoes of hers, he would have caught the devil. “However, Brutus managed to steal this.” He held up the boot for her.
“Oh, dear heavens,” she gasped, staggering back from it, her hands coming to cover her mouth.
“’Tis only a boot,” he said.
“Yes, I know that, Mr. Ryder. That just happens to be my boot.”
Chapter 6
W hat do you mean Hollindrake’s cousin was watching our windows?” Pippin whispered the next morning as she and Tally moved along the sideboard, selecting their breakfast from the well-laden platters of food before them.
A bountiful change from their days on Brook Street, Tally mused, as she followed behind her cousin.
“You heard me correctly. Mr. Ryder is here to spy on us,” she whispered back, glancing over her shoulder at the rest of the room and realized how so much had changed in the last six months. Here they were, huddled over the sideboard, whispering in secret because now there was always company and servants about at mealtimes. A vast change from taking trays in the salon of their empty house off Grosvenor Square—the only room they could afford to heat—or down in the kitchen with Mrs. Hutchinson near the stove.
“Bah!” Pippin sputtered, drawing the attention of the other occupants, Lady Charles, Lady Geneva, and Lady Standon.
Tally shot her an aggrieved look and lowered
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