And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake(46)

“Cousin, I order you to get out of that cart,” Crispin said, smolder replaced by a furious glare.

“And I, Cousin, politely refuse.” She managed a firm smile that belied her quaking insides.

“Daphne Dale!” he commanded. “You cannot be left alone with this . . . this . . .”

“I am of age, my lord,” she pointed out, “and can therefore make my own choices. I will not be bullied by you”—she glanced over at Lord Henry as well—“or any man.” Daphne looked up at the gathering clouds framing Crispin’s towering figure. “You have my answer, my lord. You’d best hurry to Langdale without me, or you’ll find your jacket ruined.”

“We shall see about that!” he said, plunking down in his seat and gathering up the reins. “Consider this choice carefully, Daphne, for once made it cannot be undone—just as many other things cannot be salvaged. You must see how you have no other choice but to return with me.”

Daphne shook at his implication that she was as good as ruined. “I disagree.”

“You cannot refuse me,” he shot back.

“I think she has,” Lord Henry told him, taking up the reins to the cart and clucking a bit at the tired nag. The poor horse was hardly a matched set of bays chafing in their traces, but you couldn’t tell that by Lord Henry’s demeanor. “Now, it is time you ceased badgering the lady and let us get on our way before the rain catches us.”

Crispin’s brow furrowed. “If that is your choice, Daphne.”

“It is.”

“So be it,” he said. “But hear me well, Seldon,” he added, turning his stormy gaze toward Lord Henry. “This lady’s welfare is in your hands. See her safely back to Owle Park. Immediately.”

“I have no desire to be drenched,” Lord Henry replied, neglecting to mention Daphne’s welfare, much to Crispin’s chagrin.

He straightened. “I shall hold you to your word, sir, that Miss Dale is returned without any hint of dishonor.”

Lord Henry bowed slightly in agreement.

Crispin turned to her, his gaze flitting for a second to Mr. Muggins, who hovered close to her shoulder. “Do not think this is the end of this, Daphne.” With that said, he wheeled his carriage around in a tight circle and drove off as if the hounds of hell were nipping his heels.

Or rather, Mr. Muggins after another of his prized hunting dogs.

“Yes, well,” Lord Henry said as the dust of Crispin’s carriage began to settle, “best get you back before he has time to fetch a halberd and settle this in some medieval fashion.” He glanced at her. “I’ve never fancied a pike through the chest.”

“I hardly think he’d choose halberds when he is an excellent shot,” she said, settling her hands primly into her lap. Then, after Lord Henry had turned the cart around—certainly not with Crispin’s skill, but well enough—she turned to him. “He has a right to be concerned.”

Lord Henry snorted.

“You are a Seldon.”

“And you are a Dale.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

One of his brows tipped into a high arch.

“Yes, right,” she agreed, recalling how this very same disagreement had gotten them into trouble at the ball—a path neither of them wished to travel down again . . . or so she thought.

“I might add though—” Lord Henry began.

Daphne set her jaw. Of course he couldn’t leave well enough alone.

But what Lord Henry said next shocked her. Utterly.

“If you were my cousin, I would not have left you in my care but followed you back to Owle Park to make sure you were well chaperoned. Your cousin is an overly proud fool.” He gave a disapproving shake of his head and said no more. Not that he needed to.

He was right, of course. And she glanced over her shoulder, where there was no sign of Crispin racing to her rescue.

Daphne drew her shawl around her shoulders a bit tighter, hoping to stave off the shivers. And this time it had nothing to do with the impending rain.

“You did give your word, as a gentleman,” she reminded him.

“Do you trust my word?” he asked, not looking at her. “Because I hardly trust yours.”

She flinched. As well she should.

“Yes, of course my family approves,” he mimicked from earlier. “My family doesn’t mind in the least.” He glanced over at her. “Is that still your story?”