Page 23 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)

Those wretched little beasts!

“Charming indeed,” Stonehaven approved as the carriage navigated the narrow, cobbled streets.

Beau nodded, looking upon the cottages and winding streets that had lately become so familiar to him.

He was glad to be back, he realised, and strangely eager to see Miss Honeywell again.

Well, not just Miss Honeywell. Her father and her sister too, and of course he wished to meet the incomparable, naturally.

He wondered if Miss Honeywell would be pleased to see him, wondered if she would blush and stammer.

Perhaps she might read too much into the visit, he thought belatedly.

What if she got some silly notion in her head and thought he had come to court her?

Miss Honeywell? a snide little voice said caustically in his head. She wouldn’t consider you if you were the last man on earth, so it matters little if she thinks you are courting her.

Yet somehow it did matter, for if she was so set against the idea of him as a husband—which was perfectly fine and reasonable—he did not want her thinking he was trying to win her over.

Suddenly, Beau felt anxious and out of sorts and wished he had not allowed Stonehaven to talk him into this.

Well, he would just have to make it clear this was just a friendly visit, and she was not to read anything into it.

He didn’t wish for her to feel uncomfortable or…

or obligated in any way. But there was no reason they could not be friends.

Reassured, he relaxed as the carriage bore them on towards the vicarage. Beau had instructed the driver to take them on a brief tour before they stopped, so Stonehaven could see the delights of the town.

“Shall we go to the pub?” Stonehaven said eagerly upon seeing The Ship Inn.

“Perhaps later. We can’t go calling on the vicar and his family smelling like a brewery.”

“You said the old fellow liked a tipple himself,” Stonehaven pointed out.

“Yes, exactly. He’ll be dreadfully miffed if we don’t invite him to join us,” Beau said reasonably.

Stonehaven laughed. “I like him already.”

Beau regarded his friend with sudden concern. Whilst he was not classically handsome like Beau, he was appealing, with a roguish twinkle in his eyes and strong, masculine features. Belatedly, he wondered what effect the arrival of the marquess would have on the three young ladies. Good Lord.

“You will behave, won’t you?” Beau said uneasily. “I mean, they’re very young, and definitely innocent, and—”

“I do hope you are not impugning my honour, Beau,” Stonehaven drawled.

“Oh, don’t pretend you’re offended,” Beau said impatiently. “Just mind your manners.”

“Yes, my Lord Beaumarsh,” Stonehaven said, bowing slightly.

Beau shook his head in exasperation and turned back to the carriage window, just as the vicarage came into sight.

He jumped down before the carriage had fully stopped, too impatient to wait for the footman to open the door and regarded the vicarage with approval.

It was an enchanting building, the garden riotous with roses and wisteria and flowers he had no names for, all thronged with butterflies and bees.

This delightful bucolic scene was shattered a moment later, however, by a blood-curdling scream from inside.

Beau and Stonehaven exchanged a glance before running for the gate. Beau pushed through ahead of Stonehaven, just as a small furry creature shot across the path ahead of them. It was closely followed by a woman running pell mell, skirts hiked to her knees.

“Come back here, you little beast!” she cried, a second before she collided with Beau.

The Vicarage, Little Valentine, South-East Coast of England. 9 th July 1815

It was a dream, Clementine decided. No. Strike that.

A nightmare. That’s what it was. Only in a nightmare would she run in such a hoydenish manner with her skirts bunched up, bellowing like a fishwife, and knock the Earl of Beaumarsh flat on his back in her front garden.

If only George, their gardener, hadn’t left the watering can in that precise spot, Beaumarsh might have recovered his balance. If, if, if.

It wasn’t real, she assured herself.

Yet his chest felt remarkably solid as she pressed her hands against it and pushed in an effort to remove herself from his far too close proximity.

Having never been so near to a male person of his lordship’s kind before, she was at once scandalised and intrigued.

He seemed so much bigger when pressed flat against him, and harder.

Stronger . The knowledge of how much strength resided in the musculature of that broad chest made her heart skip.

Heat rushed to all parts of her body and an odd sensation deep in her belly unsettled her further.

She dared not look at him, could only imagine the horror with which he was regarding her, and yet her eyes were drawn inexorably to his.

Blue, blue, indigo blue was all she could think for a moment.

Blue as the sea and the sky and … and crinkling at the corners as his chest began to shake.

The devil!

He was laughing at her.

Horrified, Clementine recommenced her struggle to get upright and found herself hauled easily to her feet. Turning in surprise, she found a large man regarding her with a smile that was far too knowing for her comfort.

“Miss Honeywell, I presume?” he said, his voice deadpan.

Dreadfully flustered now, Clementine took a moment to smooth her skirts, lamenting the fact she was wearing her oldest and most faded gown.

Well, yes, of course she would be. In what reality would she ever be prepared for the arrival of two handsome noblemen by wearing her best gown and being perfectly composed?

None that she had ever lived in, that was for certain.

She tried to rearrange her hair, which was a lost cause, as the man reached down to take his friend's hand and pulled Beaumarsh to his feet.

The devil was still laughing, drat him, but she supposed it might be worse.

“I beg your pardon, my lord, I was not expecting you,” she said, flushed with mortification.

“I d-dread to think what you might have done if you had been expecting me,” Beaumarsh managed, wiping his eyes.

Clementine scowled at him, trying hard not to think about how it had felt to lie atop him, for that would not help in the least. “I did not do it on purpose. One of our kittens caught a mouse. I have been trying to train it to bring them to me alive, but so far, I have had little success.”

“You wished for the cat to deliver the mouse to you alive?” the unknown man repeated, looking intrigued. “Whatever for?”

“So it is not dead,” Clementine replied reasonably.

The fellow turned to Beaumarsh and grinned. “Now I see,” he said, after which incomprehensible remark the earl’s mirth vanished, and he sent his friend a warning look Clementine could not fathom.

“Have you come to visit my father?” Clementine asked, trying to get this nonsensical meeting onto a more reasonable footing, for she could not understand why else he might turn up out of the blue like this.

Surely, he had not come to visit her? The thought made her spirits lift momentarily, though she knew it was foolish.

“Yes, actually,” Lord Beaumarsh replied with a smile that reminded her of all the reasons she ought to keep her feet on the ground.

“And you and your charming sisters,” his companion added before Beaumarsh could continue.

Clementine prayed she had in no way revealed her disappointment and glanced at him.

He offered her a smile that was as wicked as it was appealing and, rather than feeling embarrassed, Clementine felt herself smile in response.

He was not as handsome as Lord Beaumarsh, his features harsher and more rugged, but he was certainly attractive, and didn’t he know it.

“Is your father home?” Beaumarsh asked, forcing her to turn away from his friend.

A teasing smile played around his mouth and Clementine’s stomach dropped.

Was he aware of the outrageous thoughts she’d had when they’d been entangled so intimately?

Oh, Lord. She hoped not. She looked away from him, unable to withstand the encouraging warmth she saw there, for surely she would blush and stammer like a ninny if he kept on.

Instead, she kept her tone brusque and businesslike and avoided looking at him altogether.

“He is, and shall be most pleased to see you and…?” She trailed off, aware they still had not been introduced.

“My apologies,” the earl said at once. “Miss Honeywell, may I present Lord Stonehaven? Stonehaven, Miss Honeywell.”

“Charmed,” Stonehaven said, taking her hand and bowing over it.

“My lord,” Clementine said, dipping a curtsy. “Please, do come inside.”

Miss Honeywell left them in a cheerfully sunny parlour whilst she went to fetch her father.

She could hardly look at him, and yet she couldn’t not look at him either.

It was rather hard to keep the stupid grin from his face.

Beau watched her go, still wishing he could have made their rather unorthodox meeting last a little longer.

He’d been sorely tempted to put his arms around her, but he was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of the situation.

Not too much of a gentleman to enjoy it, though.

It had been no hardship to feel her plastered against him.

He hadn’t cared a fig for the fact there was a pebble digging into his hip, or that his immaculate person was likely covered in dust. He had cared that her lush breasts were pressed hard against him, and the feel of her hands pushing against his chest made him think of far more intimate situations where she might be in such a position.

She had been so appalled, so terribly flustered, and yet he thought he had seen curiosity in her eyes, fascination even, and believed she had rather enjoyed the interlude herself, despite her embarrassment. He hoped so.