Page 22 of An Unwitting Alliance
This would be a good time to run from the room before Mr. Harwood’s shock dissipated. Resisting the pull toward the door, however, she let her manners take over, and she picked up her napkin. No matter how mortified she was, she could not leave with her chewed-up egg splattered all over Mr. Harwood.
With cheeks burning, she hurried around the table to his side and dutifully plucked the spot of egg from his hair. “Forgive me. I wouldn’t normally spit on even my worst enemy.”
“I do not believe you,” Mr. Harwood said, raising his own napkin to his cheek. Suspicion and annoyance dripped from every inch of him. He lifted his distrustful blue eyes to hers, searching for her true intentions.
“It was your fault,” she whispered, his nearness making it hard for her to form words. She fumbled with her napkin but finally managed to lift it to his other cheek.
His indignant brow jumped, and he turned in his seat, his upper body now facing her. “My fault?” His words were punctuated, but his tone remained even and remarkably controlled. “I should not be surprised you think so, even though it would be hard to prove.”
Breathe, Cassandra!“You should not have said what you did. It... caught me off guard.”
“You mean the part where I said you tempt me?” His wicked grin unnerved her, causing her napkin to still on his cheek.
Did he have to repeat himself? “You should not joke about such matters. Especially under the circumstances.” She proceeded to wipe off his face, her fingers now trembling from the occasional brush of her hand against his skin. She was much too close to him, and all her senses were heightened.
There.Nearlyevery piece of egg had been removed.
“What reason would I have to jest?” Mr. Harwood propped his arm on the back of his chair. He had to be fully aware she was bothered by him, and somehow that knowledge pleased him. “You did not believe me yesterday, but we are in the same position, Miss Vail. There is no reason to be dishonest with each other.” His small smile was anything but assuring. It only managed to highlight the very last speck of egg she did not dare retrieve. The piece on his lip.
It was distracting enough that she could not answer him.
“Are you finished, then?” he asked. “Or should I hunt down my valet again? I have business in town, and I should not delay any longer.”
She stared at the incriminating egg near the corner of his mouth, as glaring as the sun and just as yellow. She couldn’t let him go to town like that. “Just one last bit.” Her hand came up. One swipe. That was all she needed. Almost there. Just as her finger made contact with the soft flesh of his mouth, Mr. Harwood’s hand enclosed around her wrist.
“Miss Vail, I am surprised by you.” His flirtatious tone sent gooseflesh up her arms.
Her eyes widened. “Me?”
“I have never seen such a display just for an excuse to touch a man’s mouth.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Wasn’t I honest with you? Can’t I be afforded the same courtesy?”
“B-but... I wasn’t—” She blinked. “And honest about what?” If he would just let go of her wrist, she might think and speak clearly.
He smirked, but she wasn’t acting dimwitted on purpose. “If you are tempted by me, why not simply admit it? It will not change anything between us. We are both determined to end our engagement.”
With a hard yank, Cassandra drew back her arm. “I am not tempted by you in the least!” Her chest heaved, her heart pounding hard enough to choke her. She had to catch her breath, and she wouldn’t be able to do so in his presence. Nothing kept her from fleeing the room this time. Not even her mostly uneaten plate of food. She stumbled out of the breakfast room and pushed herself up against the wall, taking long, even breaths. There was no way she would ever be able to eat eggs again. They would forever remind her of Mr. Harwood’s vile, hypnotic, maddeningly soft lips.
Chapter 9
Who knew the Vails’ cookwas so accommodating? She had prepared a personal breakfast plate just for Tom. He wanted to be grateful, truly he did. So while his stomach was uneasy, at least he left breakfast feeling quite entertained. One thing was certain: his time with Miss Vail was not to be regretted. He found he didn’t mind egg on his face so long as Miss Vail was the one to clean it off. When she’d touched his mouth, he’d almost lost all reason. He’d grabbed her wrist to pull her to him, only for his sanity to stop him at the last moment.
Thank heavens he had some sense left in him.
On his way to the stables to collect Zeus, he lifted his head to the blanket of clouds and started a one-sided conversation with Charley. “You could have warned me that Miss Vail was Miss Smith. I thought you were an angel. Angels look out for their brothers. They warn them when trouble comes in the form of a beautiful woman with a fiery temper. And, worse, she is so terribly amusing, I cannot help but goad her. Mama would be furious if she knew.”
The sky did not so much as rumble in response.
But Tom did not require a response. He just needed someone to talk to. “You know, she doesn’t like me at all. How is that possible? Most everyone likes me. This situation would be far easier to deal with if she would cooperate.”
He had planned to apologize profusely once he found her, but Cassandra wouldn’t let him even speak about the ball. Well, whether she wanted to hear it or not, it needed to be said. Soon she would realize this engagement wasn’t his idea.
He collected Zeus and mounted, pulling the reins toward Airewell. He guessed the ride into town and to the workhouse would take less than ten minutes. Despite his talk with Charley, thoughts of Cassandra still tugged at the back of his mind. He glanced again at the vibrant blue-gray sky and immediately thought of her eyes. With a sharp nudge of his heel, his horse’s slow trot turned into a canter. A brisk ride on Zeus would clear Tom’s head. Soon he would be acting as a Rebel again. It felt gratifying to know there would be a greater purpose in his trip to Airewell and his time would be put to good use aiding Mr. Miner. Addressing the needs of a workhouse sounded far simpler than the needs of a certain vexing woman.
When he reached town, he stopped at the mews. After asking for directions, he led his horse down Carr Street until he reached the gate in front of the long rectangular two-story workhouse. The muted brown brick showed no signs of wear, and the grass was tidy, if not a little bare. Instead of dismounting, he rode past the entrance to an alley on the side of the building.
Once he was out of sight, he slid off his saddle and dug through his saddlebags. First came out his fake beard, which he had purchased overseas. He had been dying to try it out. It came with loops he slung over his ears. Beards were vastly out of style, but it did wonders at disguising his face. And when investigating unknown ground, it never hurt to be prepared.
How he wished he had remembered his gold-handled walnut walking stick. That affectation would have been perfect for the part he hoped to play. He added several fobs, a chain around his neck with a monocle, and a heavy scarf, more for costuming flair than for warmth. There. His new look screamed rich and eccentric. He tied his horse up to a fence post, not wanting Zeus to be later identified, and made his way back toward the gate.
