Page 31 of A Daring Pursuit

Chaston came to his feet so quickly, Noah was tempted—and he may have taken a step—to shove him back down. But Julius had his arm.

“Lord Chaston, allow me to introduce Miss Geneva Wimbley of London,” he said. “Miss Wimbley, the Viscount Chaston.”

“Charmed, Miss Wimbley. I would offer refreshment, but alas…” His gaze cut to Docia, he nearly sneered. “Er, of London, you say?”

“Yes, my lord.” Miss Wimbley’s lips twitched. “Berwick Street,” she said lightly.

A frown, clearly disapproving, turned his lips. The man was as uncouth and rude as his cousin.

“We should depart,” Julius intervened. “The ladies must be famished.”

“Yes, of course,” Chaston said the same time Noah murmured the same.

The party moved into the hall, where a stuffed portmanteau and a smaller case had appeared. He picked them up and stepped out the door, handing them off to Dermid, who stashed them in the boot. “Throw the tarp over them.”

“Aye, sir.”

Julius assisted Docia with her hooded spencer, leaving Noah to Miss Wimbley and Julius’s smirk over Docia’s head and at Miss Wimbley’s back.

With a glare, Noah turned away and found himself being keenly observed by Chaston.

Noah ignored him, taking another hooded spencer of dark purple from the peg, abandoning the worn cloak. She smelled of something distinctly French that was much more to Docia’staste. In his humble opinion, the orange blossoms suited her bold personality that had nearly felled him to his knees the day before. He resisted an impulse to kiss the back of her neck where the wispy strands of her dark hair feathered his knuckles.

The spencer sported a hood and he lifted it to her hair. He dropped his hands and stood back, aware of Chaston’s stare—that of a fire-forged blade slicing him between the shoulders.

“Thank you.” She fastened the ties, her eyes meeting his. Eyes that had taken on the deep colors she wore that almost clashed with his waistcoat and stickpin.

Julius had led Docia out.

“What are you really doing here, Miss Wimbley?” he said low enough for her ears only.

A small, irritated smile tilted her luscious lips. “I believe your friend Miss Hale compelled the situation,” she said. She spun on a satin purple slipper and escaped through the door and into the carriage.

She was as wily as he, it appeared. Still, he knew there was more to her sudden appearance at Stonemare. The thought trickled ice through him.

Firming his lips, Noah vowed he would have his answers in the end. He glanced at Chaston, who just shook his head and reentered the drawing room.

Letting out a long breath, Noah followed her out, securing the door behind him.

Chapter Twelve

In the quietride to Stonemare, amidst the lack of oxygen Mr. Oshea seemed to steal from everyone—her, leastways—Geneva just realized that Miss Hale had never answered the question of what had happened to her parents. She hadn’t seen a personal maid, which Geneva found extremely odd, considering the amount of clothes the woman hoarded. The house was large and spotless. Someone tended to it. The sparse number of servants didn’t mean there weren’t any, but for one as pretentious as Miss Hale… Yes. Definitely odd.

“When did your cousin arrive?” Geneva asked her.

Her head was turned away as she appeared to be staring out at the passing landscape. “I’ve no idea.”

“Less than an hour ago,” Noah Oshea said for her.

Geneva wondered what she was seeing, as the rain had started back up after its short reprieve, rendering the view useless.

“And with no prior warning. Typically rude of him,” Docia bit out.

Rain pelted the carriage, slowing their progress to the castle, but no one seemed inclined to speak. Geneva took the opportunity to study both Mr. Oshea and his brother. There was a similarity, but nowhere close to that of Mr. Oshea and the new earl. All had the dark hair, broad noses, stubborn chins. The youngest brother, however, didn’t have the gray eyes the olderbrothers had. Julius’s were more like the color of hers, a dark, indiscriminate blue.

“Finally,” Mr. Oshea breathed.

It wasn’t just that the sound that set her skin afire—it traveled over her with the force of a flaming deluge.

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