And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake(44)

Oh, it was all by chance she knew, but what rotten chance this, especially since Lord Henry had gotten them lost.

“See, there is the river and that is the bridge,” she said again, pointing at the map. “We will never find the treasure at this rate.”

Instead of seeing the sense of what she was saying, he turned the map yet again, as if that would help.

Daphne gave up, scrunching herself into the corner of the narrow seat the pony cart afforded them. Which still left them wedged together, his muscled thigh brushing intimately against her skirt with each jolt of the road.

The wrong road, she wanted to shout.

For turn around they must. By Daphne’s reckoning they were nearly to Langdale. Crispin’s house, to be exact. And most likely already on Dale land.

Oh, wouldn’t that turn all her plans to naught if they ran into Cousin Crispin.

And as if only to thwart her plans further, from up ahead came the sound of horses’ hooves and the whir of wheels from a quickly moving carriage.

Mr. Muggins let out a low growl, a harbinger of the disaster about to whirl into their path.

Round the corner and over the bridge came an expensive phaeton, the sort a gentleman of means and with a penchant for driving owned.

There was no mistaking who it was coming toward them—Crispin, Viscount Dale, in all his handsome glory. The holder of the family title, the golden boy of a handsome family.

There wasn’t a female Dale cousin or close relation—or even those, like Daphne, whose place on the family tree was on the sort of branch that should have been trimmed off generations ago but was left on for the sake of family unity—who didn’t hold a torch for Crispin Dale.

Devilishly handsome and charming, with a rakish demeanor, he left the female half in a state of awe and wonder by simply walking into a room.

Daphne wouldn’t have been surprised if the sun had burst forth from the gathering clouds and shone down on his fair head, if only to illuminate his way.

Crispin barely spared them a glance, for Lord Henry had already guided the old nag and cart over toward the side of the road, but when he came nearly upon them, he took a closer look and immediately pulled his matched set to a stop, the flurry of dogs that had been racing after his carriage all tumbling to a halt in a wild, raucous chorus of barks.

At first, she thought Crispin had noticed her and was stopping to rescue her, but rather her relation had his dark gaze clapped on Lord Henry Seldon.

And he looked none too pleased to find him on Dale land. Even if they were neighbors.

So Daphne kept her chin tucked in and hoped the brim of her bonnet would shelter her face.

Just perhaps, just maybe, Crispin wouldn’t notice her. Might not even remember her.

“Sir, you are lost and should turn around.” The strained comment held all the welcoming tones of a judge about to set down a long sentence.

For Daphne knew exactly what Crispin truly meant. Get off my land, you bounder.

“Hardly lost, sir,” Lord Henry replied with every bit of haughty disdain that only a Seldon could manage. “Merely taking a tour of the surrounding countryside. But you are correct, we should turn around. There is nothing of note ahead. Or so I’ve heard.”

Daphne tucked her head down further. Oh, good heavens. She didn’t know what was worse—the Seldon pride or the Dale vanity, because one surreptitious glance revealed that Cousin Crispin appeared ready to toss down the gauntlet.

“Oh, my good God!” Cousin Crispin sputtered. “What the devil is—”

Daphne cringed, for certainly her masquerade was up. He’d spied her and was even now—

“What the hell is that mongrel doing to my best hunting bitch?!” he exclaimed.

She stilled. And then glanced over her shoulder where Mr. Muggins had been sitting in the back of the cart.

Save now the cart was empty.

Beside her, Lord Henry chuckled. “My lord, if I have to explain that to you, I can’t see how the Dales have been so prolific over the years.”

“Sir, get that beast off my dog!”

No! No! No! Daphne didn’t even want to look. But she did anyway.

Oh, Mr. Muggins! How could you?

“Not my beast,” Lord Henry was saying, leaning back and tipping his head as he glanced at the oversized terrier, who was happily repeating the original scandal that had brought the Dales and Seldons to blows. “Hers,” he offered, jerking his thumb at Daphne, for which she covered her face with her hands.