Page 16 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

He double-checked that everything in the desk was the exactly way he’d found it, and headed for the beach. He doubted Miss Walden had set up a flirtation with the footman but he wanted to see what they were actually doing.

Standing atop the bluff, he took a moment to enjoy the view and the freedom of the wind whipping through his hair.

As usual when he went down to the beach, he wore a coat he could actually button if the breeze was stiff, and intentionally left his hat in the house.

He slowly let his gaze slide from the ships on the horizon, to the fishing smacks closer to shore, and down to the beach.

As it always did, the buffeting wind, call of seagulls, and the salty air relaxed him better than a glass of his best whisky.

Since he hadn’t taken the time to exchange his shoes for boots, he skipped the steep but short path to take instead what he deemed the “old lady’s” path.

He scanned the beach, checking each figure to identify Miss Walden or Marshall.

None of the beachcombers looked likely, even as he descended the twisting path and walked close to the water’s edge.

He didn’t have far to go, as the tide was almost all the way in, rolling close to the bluff.

Aunt Gert’s footman balanced upon a boulder, throwing rocks into the water. Vincent had often played the same game, trying to time his throw to hit the peak of the wave. Miss Walden couldn’t be far.

The footman remained oblivious as Vincent walked behind him, crossing the beach toward Lady Lyttleton’s property. With the tide in, to keep his shoes dry he had to carefully pick his way between the rocks. He looked up as he reached a sandy spot… and nearly knocked Miss Walden off her feet.

“My apologies, Miss Walden.” He grasped her by her elbows, to make sure she didn’t fall.

She tilted her head back, and then back some more, her startled sherry gaze meeting his. “I’m so sorry,” she said, a little out of breath. “I didn’t see you there.”

He couldn’t help grinning. “A moment ago I wasn’t here.

” She’d left her bonnet in the house, allowing him a peek of her neat crown of dark braids under her madly fluttering but firmly pinned-on lace cap.

Belatedly he realized he was still holding her.

Only after she looked from his hand on her elbow back up to his face did he let go.

“No damage done? No injury to your person?”

She took a big step back. “I am quite fine, thank you.” The sudden pinkening of her cheeks had nothing to do with the wind, he was certain.

His first assumption had been correct. She and the footman were barely aware of each other’s presence. Yet she hadn’t been out here for a stroll along the water, either. “Are you fond of the beach? Is that why you come down here every afternoon?”

“Yes, I…” She trailed off as she glanced around the beach, now empty except for them and the footman. She pointed over her shoulder, at the bluff. “I often meet my friend Miss Burrell here. I seem to have missed her today.”

“I didn’t realize you were from Sidmouth.” Surely he would have encountered her on one of his previous visits.

“We both taught at the academy in Torquay. Her parents live not far, just over that hill. It was quite a joyful coincidence to run into her here.” She began walking toward the zigzag path up the bluff.

Vincent was about to fall into step with her when he realized they were opposite the cave entrance. Nostalgia hit him hard in the gut, stronger at the moment than his curiosity about secrets Miss Walden might be hiding. “You go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you at dinner.”

Her face turned three shades paler when she noticed he was staring at the cave. Even more interesting was that she abandoned her original plan and pivoted on her heel to follow him.

“You want to explore the cave with me, Miss Walden?” Well, this was confusing.

“I, er, ah… Yes. Yes, I do. I don’t think we’ll be able to go far, though. One of the maids told me that some caverns fill up at high tide.” She glanced up at him, biting the corner of her bottom lip.

Tearing his gaze from her delectable mouth, he shook his head. “Rumors to discourage smugglers and other nefarious individuals from using the premises,” he said, leaning closer, just loud enough for her to hear him over the wind. He touched his finger to the side of his nose.

“Oh!” The color had not yet returned to her cheeks.

Interesting.

A few steps in, as the daylight dimmed, their footsteps echoed on rock instead of being muffled by sand.

The wind became a faint whisper instead of a shout, the cool damp air bringing a flood of memories.

The cool temperature in the tunnels and caverns barely varied between the hottest of summer days and coldest of winter nights.

“I often played in these caves when I was younger,” Vincent found himself revealing.

The chalk lines on the walls were just as he recalled, guiding one from the beach up to the house.

There was a pattern to the markings where the tunnels diverged.

He cudgeled his memory for the key. There was a particular cavern he had often used as a refuge, an escape from the world. Could he find it again?

It had been more than a decade since he’d ventured into this underground maze.

After he’d finished university, the box hedge maze suited his adult needs better.

Fresh air without the velocity to knock him on his arse or blow sand in his face.

A gentle, bubbling fountain instead of crashing waves that could sneak up on him and drag him out to sea.

Comfortable chairs and a table on the terrace for dining alfresco instead of sitting on the cold, rocky ground with bats just overhead.

“Really? In the dark?”

“That’s what made it so appealing,” he said over his shoulder. But Miss Walden was no longer behind him. She came up beside him and looped her arm through his, holding tight against his side in the close confines of the tunnel.

He patted her hand. “Aunt Gert has the staff keep a basket of torches in the cellar just outside the kitchen door.” Was it his imagination, or was Miss Walden pulling him along?

“Do you think we’re almost there?”

She was definitely tugging him to go faster, undoubtedly regretting her decision to enter the dark cave with him. Perhaps she’d never been in here before?

Even after being gone so long, he knew exactly where they were, where the turns came, without having to think about them.

As the path climbed and they made another turn, he realized they had already passed the junction to the tunnel that led to the large cavern where he used to play. She had completely distracted him.

On purpose?

In other circumstances, he might enjoy a pretty miss clinging to his arm, staring up at him in breathless wonder.

Even if he couldn’t see her expression in the darkness that now engulfed them.

As he patted her arm again to reassure her, he brushed against his pocket which held the folded page of secret code.

The paper made a soft crinkling sound, reminding him that she was hiding something. Perhaps more than one thing.

What could it be? Something to do with the friend she was meeting on the beach, perhaps? Idly he wondered how long it would take the footman to notice Miss Walden was no longer on the beach, and how he’d react.

The closer they got to the cellar outside the kitchen, the more her grip loosened, until she let go completely when they saw light under the door.

Mrs. Bickford did not bat an eyelash when they entered her kitchen from the tunnel. “Mrs. Digby has just requested tea in the library, Miss.”

Miss Walden snatched one of the tiny rout cakes from the tray Mrs. Bickford was arranging and popped it in her mouth.

When she closed her eyes and gave a quiet moan of delight, Vincent had to stare at the pans hanging from hooks to control his unruly thoughts.

“I’ll put my cloak away and join her.” Without glancing at Vincent, she snatched another cake on her way out.

Mrs. Bickford faced Vincent, a large spatula in one hand, her other propped on her hip. “I suppose you want to snitch one of your aunt’s favorite cakes, too?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He leaned down to kiss her weathered cheek. “I’m a growing boy. I need at least three.” He grabbed three of the sweet, rich rout cakes, gave her a bow, and climbed the stairs to the main hall, the sound of her chuckle following him.

Another subject in which he and Aunt Gertrude were in perfect harmony: the best part about crowded and stuffy London routs were these little desserts.

Busy tossing the cakes in the air and catching them in his mouth, he almost missed the last one when he heard Kendall greet someone who had just arrived at the front door.

“Matthew?” Vincent stared in disbelief at his friend Matthew Huntley, who was handing over his coat to the butler in the doorway.

“There you are!” Matthew shoved his hat and gloves toward Kendall, shook his head to get the hair from his eyes, and hauled Vincent in for a back-pounding hug. They stepped aside to make room for a footman carrying a trunk toward the back stairs, followed by Matthew’s valet.

“Were you in a race? I did not expect to see you until tomorrow at the earliest.” He led his friend to the drawing room and poured a small glass of brandy for each of them.

“My trunks were already packed and loaded on the coach when your invitation arrived,” Matthew said. “I was minutes away from leaving Town. Since it didn’t matter where I went to escape the gossip, I came to Sidmouth.” He drained his glass. “Where are your aunts? Doing well, I hope?”

“They will both be very happy to see you. What gossip? What have I missed?”

They continued catching up as Mrs. Nelson showed them to the bedchamber where Matthew’s things had been taken.

Vincent tried not to be annoyed by the fact it was the same bedchamber Matthew had stayed in many times before, while Vincent was currently relegated to a room at the end of the hall.

If he wanted to see the Channel instead of the stables, he had to lean out the window and turn his head.

He had been away too long indeed for Gert to assign him this room.

Did Miss Walden stare out at the waves before falling asleep in his usual room, as he so often did?

He pictured her in the same flannel night rail she’d been wearing the night he surprised her with his arrival.

The stripes had faded to almost nothing, and the fabric looked soft from being washed a thousand times.

Still couldn’t be as soft as her skin. Did she ever leave her hair loose, or was it always neatly braided?

He tried to picture her with that thick, dark brown hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back, to no avail.

Vincent finally realized Matthew was snapping his fingers in front of his face.

“Am I boring you? You looked like you were a hundred miles away.”

Not a hundred miles, or even one mile. Just thirty feet down the hall.

Vincent forced his attention back to his friend and his newfound circumstances.

* * *

Everyone gathered in the drawing room before dinner.

“It is so good to see you again, Mrs. Digby,” Matthew said, bowing and dropping a kiss on Aunt Gert’s hand. “I vow, you seem to be aging in reverse.”

Instead of letting Matthew go, Aunt Gert tugged him closer and knitted her brows together in a frown. “How many times do I have to tell you, young man?”

Matthew grinned and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “It is good to see you, Aunt Gertrude.”

“Much better.”

Aunt Agnes cleared her throat. “And what am I over here, yesterday’s fish?”

Matthew hustled over to kiss Aunt Agnes on the cheek. “You appear to also be in the pink of health, madam.”

She gave him a light slap on his forearm. “You’re a liar, but a handsome one, so I’ll let it go.” Was that a blush stealing across the old gel’s cheeks?

Vincent noticed Miss Walden in the doorway, looking uncertain.

As she began to turn away, he called to her, and drew her farther into the room by the expedient measure of tucking her arm through his.

“Matthew, I don’t think you’ve met Aunt Gertrude’s scribe, Miss Sophia Walden.

” Vincent watched for her reaction. Women always reacted to Matthew, from the greenest girls to jaded widows.

“Miss Walden, this is Mr. Matthew Huntley. We’ve been friends since Eton. ”

Miss Walden uncoupled herself from Vincent and allowed Matthew to bow and kiss her hand as though they were meeting at a ball. She dipped into a light curtsy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Huntley.”

Hmm. Her interest was merely polite now, but Vincent knew that would change as soon as she heard him sing. Every woman looked at Matthew differently after they heard him sing.

They engaged in polite chitchat—mostly about the sad state of the roads between London and Sidmouth—until Kendall alerted them dinner was ready.

As was her custom here in the countryside, Aunt Gert ignored the rules of propriety and everyone went in to dinner however they chose. No pairing off according to rank.

Vincent pulled Matthew aside after the ladies exited the room. “My apologies,” he murmured. “I should have introduced you by your title. I haven’t even thought to tell my aunts about your recent change in station.”

“Think nothing of it. I’m not used to it yet, either.” Matthew clapped him on the shoulder. “And after what my cousin did to the name, I’m not sure I want to take it up.”