And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake(48)

Miss Dale shook her head. “Whatever do you mean?”

He wasn’t fooled. Hen did this all the time. Lured him into confessing his wrongdoings so she didn’t have to lay them out for him and waste her time listening to him deny them. “Just say it.”

“Say what?” she asked, then resumed her pacing.

Truly, this was becoming more difficult than it needed to be. Besides, her circling was making him dizzy.

“ ‘I told you so.’ ” Whyever couldn’t a woman just come out and say a thing? Rather they had to drag out an accusation, like a painful thorn.

She blinked and gaped at him, as if the realization of what he was getting at finally hit her. Huffing a sigh, she went back to her pacing. “Lord Henry, I have far more important troubles at hand than to waste my time crowing over your wretched sense of direction.”

And with that said, the pacing began anew. This time with a more determined click to her steps.

“Whatever has you in this state?”

She came to a blinding halt. “Crispin, of course!”

What she left out, but truly had no need to say, was, The one we would not have crossed paths with if you had listened to me and taken the correct road.

“Oh, yes, him,” he managed, shuffling his boots a bit. He’d been doing his best to forget their encounter with Lord Dale.

“Yes, him.”

The sarcasm stung, but then he’d lived with Hen all these years not to be a bit immune.

It was what she said next that left him flummoxed.

“He’ll ruin everything!”

Then, much to Henry’s chagrin, she resumed pacing. Did she have to go in a circle? He was going to get nauseous.

But something else struck him. “He’ll ruin everything”?

Henry perked up, feeling the scales of justice tipping back into his favor.

As he’d suspected, the lady had a secret.

He strolled out of her path and sat down on the bench beside her ruined hat, though not too close. The muddled mess of silk was letting off a regular brook of rainwater.

“What will he ruin, Miss Dale?”

She stumbled to a stop and cast a glance over her shoulder at him. No longer the vengeful valkyrie, her eyes widened, then just as quickly narrowed to hide her alarm.

Ah, yes, the lady had a big secret.

“Nothing.”

Yes, he knew that tone as well. When a woman said “nothing,” it usually meant “everything.”

Henry glanced down at the state of his boots and said nonchalantly, “I thought you said this morning that your family approved of your attendance.”

She flinched and put her back to him.

“So they don’t?”

Her shoulders hunched up as if to shield her from his prodding.

He got to his feet. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

She whirled around. “Everyone will now.”

Henry had to admit, he rather admired her plucky defiance—save when it was aimed at him. But her defiance was also entangling him in a mess of epic proportions.

Whyever had she gone to such great lengths to come to Owle Park to begin with?

Meanwhile, Miss Dale took one of his sister’s favorite tacks: turning the tables. “This is all your fault.”

If he’d had a sovereign for every time Hen had used that phrase . . . “My fault?” he ventured.

“Yes, yours.” The lady crossed the space between them and stopped right in front of him. “If you had but followed the map—”

So much for that accusation remaining unsaid . . .

“—we would not have run into Crispin. And now . . .” Her words failed her as she gave into a bout of shivers.

He looked at her again, and this time, noting more than just the state of her ruined gown and the shape of her comely figure, he also realized she was chilled to the bone.

Some gentleman he was!

Shrugging off his driving coat, he wrapped it around her shoulders, ignoring her wary gaze and her attempt to brush his gallantry aside and slip out from his grasp. He held onto the lapels and straightened it so it covered her.

Protected her.

Then he looked into her eyes and saw a wrenching light of despair and felt—for whatever reason, for he was hardly the cause of this misery—a twinge of guilt.

He’d done this to her. Worse yet, a nudge of conscience said it was up to him to fix all this.

He let go of the lapels and backed away. He’d never been one to melt over a lady’s languid gaze, but Miss Dale had a way, what with those starry blue eyes of hers, that pierced his sensible hide like no other woman had ever done.