Page 12 of A Daring Pursuit (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #2)

T he next morning, Noah was wakened by a harsh rain and a fierce wind rattling the windows. He crossed the icy floor to the hearth and stirred the embers before tossing on more fuel, then rang for coffee. The water in the basin was as frigid as the floor, but being the mighty Northumberland man he was, he splashed his face with nary a flinch.

More of London’s elite had appeared at the castle last night, some as late as midnight, and he didn’t expect it to let up throughout the day. Father’s service was scheduled for the church in Alnmouth the next day.

Noah swiped his face with a linen towel and dragged on his clothes. A glance at the mantel clock showed seven and he’d told Docia to be prepared by eight. He had no intention of being late and it had nothing to do with a desire to see Geneva Wimbley or brushing a fingertip over her plump bottom lip—

The effort to put that image out of his head was futile.

He wrapped his cravat in a simple knot and donned a dark-blue waistcoat that reminded him of a certain pair of navy eyes. On a whim, he picked through his wooden jewel box and located the sapphire stick pin, and with a grim smile, poked it through the starched fabric. Snatching up his coat, he stepped into the corridor, nearly bumping into Julius. Noah frowned. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Are you for Chaston? I thought to accompany you.”

That was the last thing Noah wanted. “Why?”

“Why not?” he drawled with distinct mockery. “I’m awake and desire to accompany you. Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”

Yes. “No.” Noah ran a critical eye over him. “You might consider wearing your boots. The roads will be all muck.” He could only hope they didn’t break a wheel, or worse, an axel. “I’ll meet you in the dining hall.”

With a sharp nod, Julius slipped back into his chamber.

By the time Dermid brought the carriage around, the rain had lessened. The wind, however, remained a stubborn, brutal reminder that spring in the northeast was as unpredictable as a failed chemical experiment. Exhibit A? Fallen turret.

“You seem unusually enamored with Miss Wimbley,” Julius said. The darkened interior hid his expression, but Noah detected the grin in his voice.

He responded with a grunt.

“There is something unusual about her, isn’t there? I mean, she’s friends with a woman of… of foreign ancestry.”

“Of which there is nothing wrong.” Noah’s tone was hard and unrelenting.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Julius hastened to say. “Lady Abra is very interesting as well.” There was a beat of silence, then, “But what are they doing here?”

Noah stared out at the swaying trees. A question for which he had no answer. “Exactly what I intend to find out,” he murmured.

“So, you don’t believe they are here to pay their respects to Father. I thought as much,” Julius said with a nod in his voice. “Still, it’s quite curious. Does she remind you of anyone?”

“Lady Abra? No.” He refused to speak of Miss Wimbley. Not when thinking of her shifted him so off-balance.

From across the confines, Julius’s snort filled the limited space. “It won’t work, you know. I have eyes. I see how you look at Miss Wimbley.”

Noah leaned against the squabs, folding his arms over his chest. “And just how do I look at her?”

“Like she’s an experiment you are determined to evaluate under your microscope. Only she won’t fit on one of your little glass slides.”

That didn’t sound so bad—

“But then your expression changes,” Julius went on. “As if you hadn’t eaten a decent meal for years and she has transformed into a rare delicacy you cannot wait to taste.”

Christ, what a conversation. Noah flattened his palms on his thighs and smoothed them down his legs, gripping his knees and digging his fingers into the trouser-cover flesh. His younger brother was much too observant. The skin at his neck tingled beneath the layers of his clothing. It itched where the wool touched him, stuck to sudden dampness where his lawn shirt clung. And his cravat? Downright choking. “How fanciful you are,” he said, unable to keep the roughness at bay.

“Ah, we’re here.”

The carriage slowed near the portico then stopped. It shook with the removal of the steps. Julius clapped him on the shoulder, his smile gleaming as he moved into the light. He jumped down, bypassing the steps altogether, and dashed inside Chaston Manor without so much as a knock.

Noah shook his head and followed his brother inside, half-wondering if he’d find Docia’s body sprawled from a shove in the back at the foot of the stairs.

Instead, Viscount Chaston, all disheveled six feet of him appeared from the drawing room. “What the devil?”

“Gads, you devil. When did you arrive?” Noah shook his old friend’s hand.

“Barely an hour ago. What’s going on?”

“Julius and I are here to escort your cousin and… er, her friend to Stonemare.”

Chaston was a cousin some-number removed of Docia’s. He rarely bothered with Northumberland, preferring the London residence. He’d given up on domesticizing from the onset. The man waved out a hand. “I’d offer refreshments, but I doubt there are servants in this blasted house.” He turned, inviting Noah and Julius to follow him into the drawing room. The fire had been stoked to blazing. “Hell, my bedchamber is a disaster. My valet is setting it to rights before I can even make use of it.”

“I believe she hires women from Alnmouth to clean weekly,” Noah informed him wryly. “I take it she doesn’t include the master chamber in their duties?”

“I wished she’d get herself married,” he muttered, dropping into a wing-backed chair near the fire. “Unfortunately, she’s too old.”

Docia strolled in from the hall. “We’re all set—” She froze. “What are you doing here?” she demanded of her cousin.

“I’m here to pay my respects to my neighbors,” he bit out, his eyes flicking over her latest frock of shimmering emerald.

Noah gave up on following the conversation as anticipation rippled through him. Slippered feet sounded from the hall, and Miss Wimbley entered. He swallowed hard. An urge to study her under a microscope warred with desiring an artist to capture the vision she presented in light-purple chiffon with its violet, satin sash. Her skin had been scrubbed to a rosy blush and her hair was still pulled up, much as it had been the night before.

While Noah didn’t consider himself the least bit fanciful, as he’d accused his brother, he could swear a swirling mix of colors muddied her aura. Grays, purples—except for her eyes. They were clear and brilliant. Sharp and all-seeing. And sapphire, the exact shade of his stickpin. Just as he’d remembered.

He set his squeezed fists at his back and inclined his head. “Ladies.”

A small snort emitted from Docia and Noah could swear his cravat tightened further about his neck.

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’s taste. 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.