Finding Miss McFarland Read online

  Again, he offered but withdrew, a grin toying with his mouth. “Why would your maid care if your needlework were ruined?”

  She swallowed, hating the way his gaze sharpened on her as if she were a stain on a new gown. “She wouldn’t.”

  “You pay your maid to do your needlework, don’t you?” He issued a low, knowing chuckle. “And here I thought you couldn’t surprise me more. Then again, I don’t think I could imagine you sitting still and patiently plying your needle either.”

  He was too perceptive by half.

  “Don’t say anything, please,” she said in a panic, feeling her shoulders tense as she glanced down the lane toward the Weatherstones’ townhouse. “They mustn’t find out. If they did . . .” She didn’t want to put her fears into words. It could end her involvement in the circle if they discovered the truth. Losing the only friends she’d ever had would be too much to bear.

  He stepped forward, concern etched in his expression. “Hold on, now. I was only teasing, Delaney—Miss McFarland,” he corrected. But it still didn’t change the fact that he’d spoken her name and with more tenderness than she could have imagined.

  An odd current seemed to pass between them. Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t been conscious of the strange connection they shared for several days. Not since that day she’d taken Griffin Croft to Warthall Place. Since that time, she’d done an excellent job of avoiding him. Too excellent. Though she didn’t want to admit it, she feared that he no longer cared to annoy her. No longer cared to arrive at events she knew were outside of his schedule.

  And yet, now he was on the street in front of her house, handing over her needlework. Was this meeting mere happenstance? She felt almost desperate to know. “Do you often ride down Danbury Lane?”

  “Not often.” Why he gave a wry smile, she couldn’t guess. “This horse will be up for auction next week and the owner has allowed me to . . . sample the wares.”

  And he chose to ride down her lane, of all places?

  Still, he hadn’t answered her question. She dug a little deeper. “I imagine your sisters keep you quite busy.”

  “Somewhat,” he said, but in a way that suggested he wished to be busier. “Though speaking of my sisters, they noticed your absence from Almack’s the other night.”

  His sisters had noticed her absence, but he hadn’t. Surely he’d been with them. Now, she almost wished she hadn’t asked. “The reason should be obvious,” she said quietly. Though it seemed he was waiting for an explanation. “I do not have a voucher.”

  If he noticed her embarrassment, he didn’t reveal it. “I see. Then you must have attended . . .”

  “Lord and Lady Finch hosted a ball.” Quite possibly, it had been the dullest gathering in all of society. Ball was a very loose term, considering their only source of music was their daughter on the piano. “The gathering was likely smaller than at Almack’s.”

  “Yes, I went there as well, but I did not arrive until later.” His gaze dipped to her mouth with the same intensity she remembered from the Dorsets’ conservatory. “I did not see you.”

  He’d gone to the Finches’ ball as well? So then he’d attended Almack’s and then Lord and Lady Finches’. Had he gone for the purpose of seeing her? Delaney could hardly breathe for thinking about it, and hoped—prayed—she wasn’t grinning from ear to ear. “I left early.”

  He nodded, giving nothing away. “That explains it.”

  So he’d looked for her there. And today, it mattered enough to him to ask her about where she’d been. “Did you go to the Finches’ for the purpose of—”

  “I’m keeping you from your needlework—”

  They spoke at the same time. She wondered if he would acknowledge having heard the first part of her question. He looked at her now as if he had heard. As if some part of him wanted to answer.

  He searched her gaze. She waited. Surely he could guess what she’d been about to ask. Yet when a moment passed and he said nothing, she realized she’d let her imagination run away with her.

  What a ninny! Hadn’t she warned herself a thousand times against believing for a single moment that a man could form any romantic interest in her? And here she was, practically pining for Griffin Croft.

  Without another word, he mounted his horse in one fluid motion, leaving her slightly dazzled. Ninny or not, she quite enjoyed the way he sat a horse.

  “You have my letter,” she said, looking up from his well-muscled thighs.

  As if an afterthought, he handed down her note but not before he examined the seal on the back. A muscle ticked along the firm line of his jaw. “I see you’ve not abandoned your folly.”

  She lifted her hand and attempted to pull the envelope free, but he held it firmly. Her ire ignited. She yanked the letter free. Why could he never leave his opinions to himself? Out of everyone she knew, she thought he understood her reasoning. “I’m shocked you could still say such a thing after visiting Warthall Place. My own folly appears to be in underestimating you, Mr. Croft.”

  He matched her hard glare with one of his own. “The only person you’ve underestimated all along is yourself, Miss McFarland.”

  Then, with a snap of the reins, he left her standing there on the sidewalk, trying to figure out what he meant. Or why he pretended to care at all.

  Frustrated, she ripped open the missive and read it.

  At last! She let out a breath. Montwood wanted to meet. In the note, he gave instructions for the time and place in the park on the day following Emma’s wedding. Yet at the very bottom, he’d written, “I beg of you, do not come alone.”

  What was it with men, believing they could order her around and dictate the course of her life? Frankly, she’d had enough.

  If there was one thing Montwood needed to understand from the very beginning, it was that Delaney McFarland followed her own rules.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  On the day following Emma and Rathburn’s wedding, Delaney sat inside a closed carriage in the park, just as Montwood’s note had instructed. Yesterday had been perfect for a wedding. Bright, golden sunlight filled the church. Emma looked positively stunning and so very regal in her gown. Rathburn had appeared a trifle panicked at first, but the moment Emma was standing by his side, an expression of utter awe fell over him.

  It was that look that had drawn Delaney’s first tear of the day.

  The second had come at the lavish wedding breakfast. Facing the room at their table, Rathburn bent to whisper in Emma’s ear frequently. And her friend blushed just as often. Delaney caught herself smiling at the memory, if a bit wistfully.

  Then again, didn’t every young woman dream of finding her perfect match? For Delaney, that dream would never be realized. Nonetheless, she would settle for having her other dreams realized. By marrying Montwood, she would have the freedom she desired, in addition to the funds with which to aid Mr. Harrison. That was all she needed.

  Peering out through the curtains, she noticed a bank of trees up ahead and called to the driver. “Stop here, Dorsey.” It was early, and the fashionable elite had yet to flood the grounds. She imagined that Montwood preferred clandestine meetings. Perhaps that would all change once they were married. Surely a sizable fortune would bring a charming, shadow-dweller like Montwood into the light.

  No sooner had the horses stilled than the carriage door opened.

  Montwood’s dark head appeared, a dashing smile at the ready. “Miss McFarland, you are ever punctual.” The comment proved how little they knew each other. Then, without invitation, he stepped inside and sat across from her.

  Before he could pull the door closed, Buckley appeared outside. Beneath a halo of pale curls, he frowned and cast a somewhat murderous look toward Montwood. “Miss?”

  Had he a gleaming sword and armor breastplate, Buckley could not have looked more like a knight determined to rescue her from ne’er-do-wells. “Everything is as it should be, Mr. Simms,” she said fondly, fighting the urge to ruffle those curls.

/>   He gave a curt nod, still casting daggers at Montwood and grudgingly closed the carriage door.

  Across from her, Montwood pulled a frown as well. “He’s quite fierce, isn’t he? Though not much by way of a deterrent.”

  Puzzled more than alarmed, she asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Only that if I chose to run off with you right now, there would be no one to stop me.”

  “Mr. Croft, sir!”

  At Tattersalls, Griffin turned toward the sound of the familiar voice and away from the crowd admiring his new horse, a beautiful gray high-stepper. “If it isn’t young Mr. Simms. Tell me, what brings you here? If you are seeking my itinerary for the week, I shan’t give it to you.”

  “It’s Miss . . . McFarland . . . sir,” the boy wheezed, out of breath.

  Griffin quickly looked over his shoulder and pulled Buckley aside, away from the enclosure, so their exchange wouldn’t be overheard. Fortunately, a new auction had begun and the noise of it gave him more privacy. “What is it?”

  “She met a gentleman in the park just now. She didn’t say his name, but I’ve seen him before and know him as Lord Lucan Montwood.”

  So, she’d met with him after all. Griffin’s blood boiled instantly.

  “It isn’t just that,” Buckley said, his mouth twisting into a frown, as if the name had soured on his tongue. “He said that if he should like to run off with her, there’d be no one to stop him.”

  Griffin stilled. Rage or not, panic sluiced through him. His heart stopped midbeat. “Where have they gone? Gretna Green?”

  “No. No, sir.” Buckley shook his head. “They’re still across the way, by Deer Pond.”

  At this hour, there was no telling what clandestine activities could occur in the grove of trees that surrounded the water. He had no time to lose!

  If I chose to run off with you right now, there would be no one to stop me.

  A statement like that should’ve warranted a quiver of her pulse. A gasp. A shudder of dread. But all it did for Delaney was leave her feeling decidedly unmoved. “Not to worry. Dorsey’s a crack shot with a whip.”

  Montwood offered an appraising grin. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. However, speaking of your driver . . . perhaps it would be best if the carriage were moving. Less suspicious, you see. And precisely why I begged you not to come alone.”

  Ignoring the warning in his tone, she called up to Dorsey and instantly felt the pull from the horses. But there was no pull to Montwood. No flutter in her stomach, no constricting of her lungs.

  “I was afraid, after not seeing you or hearing from you for weeks, that you weren’t considering the offer I made at the Dorset ball.”

  “I’ve done nothing but consider it,” Montwood said quietly, as if more to himself than to her. “Day and night, that’s all I’ve managed to think about.”

  She let out a breath, though she wasn’t sure if it was a sigh of relief. “And you’ve come to a decision?”

  He stared at her for a moment, his amber gaze searching her face as if for an answer. “First, I must tell you that you’ve honored me with your faith in my ability to uphold our bargain. Not many would trust me not to take advantage, contract or not, especially given the record of my past.”

  She assumed he was talking about his penchant for gambling . . . and losing. “I’m certain we both have instances in our pasts that have left us in the positions we’re in today.”

  “Not like mine.” He said the words with such dark finality that for the first time, she grew nervous. “While I cannot divulge the reason at the core of my failures, I will tell you that, if left another choice, I would never gamble another day in my life. But there are circumstances beyond my control that force me into the occupation.” He looked at the shades covering the windows as if he could see through them to something far more disturbing than a view of the park. “Believe me, I’ve thought about every aspect your proposal, including how long it would take me to lose your fortune.” He released an angry exhale that flared his nostrils. “Unfortunately, the answer is quite bleak.”

  A small laugh escaped her at the absurdity of the notion. “It would take two lifetimes to use such a sum.”

  He met her gaze and speared her with enough intensity that the laughter died on her lips. “Or a single year, in the hands of a desperate man.”

  Another current of nervousness raised the gooseflesh on her arms. She couldn’t help but recall Mr. Croft’s dire warning about putting herself under Montwood’s control. “Are you desperate?”

  “Yes. But not for any reason you could fathom. I made a mistake years ago. One that I will pay for until the end of my days, or the end of . . .” He shook his head, leaving his thought unfinished.

  “Then you are here to tell me that you will not be accepting my proposal?” If he didn’t marry her, she would be forced to start all over again with a new candidate.

  “I cannot marry you,” he said but leaned forward to take her hands. “I like you too much to bring you into my endless nightmare.”

  This was terrible news. So why did she feel a glimmer of relief? It wasn’t as if she would marry for love. Yet, foolishly, her heart pined for it.

  Montwood dropped her hands and straightened abruptly. Once again, he looked toward the curtains as if he could see through them. “I must take my leave now, and before we’re discovered.”

  She listened for a moment to the sounds outside the carriage but heard nothing remarkable. Nothing other than horse hooves on the clay path, the jangle of rigging, and the music of songbirds off in the distance. What was it that caused his sudden alarm? “Do you know something I do not, Lord Montwood?” she asked, staring at him with curiosity.

  “Perhaps. One such as I can never be too careful.” He set his hand on the door and flashed one last charming smile before he slipped away.

  Delaney lifted the curtain to see what might have alerted him, but she saw nothing. Not even Montwood’s retreating figure. He’d simply disappeared. In fact, there wasn’t anyone around this part of the park. Now that she thought about it, perhaps it was foolish to have met with him without a chaperone.

  At least now it was over, and she didn’t have to worry about Mr. Croft finding out.

  She laughed to herself in relief before she called up to Dorsey. “I’m ready to return now.” With no one the wiser, she thought with a grin.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, miss,” her driver said. “Buckley ran off toward the corner and hasn’t returned yet.”

  Why on earth would Buckley have gone to Hyde Park Corner? The only thing there was the tollbooth and . . . and Tattersalls. No.

  She suddenly felt lightheaded. Mr. Croft had said something just the other day about acquiring a new horse. Surely Buckley wouldn’t have gone in search of Griffin after Montwood entered carriage. It could be a coincidence . . .

  She closed her eyes. No sooner had she put her hand to her head than she heard the approach of a horse. Then, too soon, she heard it stop. “Cor! That was so fast, I thought we were flying,” Buckley exclaimed from outside the carriage.

  We? Her heart dropped like a stone to the bottom of a well. She braced herself.

  In the next instant, the door jerked open. Griffin Croft leapt inside as if prepared for battle. His face was etched in hard lines that likely would have intimidated Montwood if he’d still been there. As for her, she started and nearly let out a shriek but managed to hold it inside.

  “What gives you the right to barge into this carriage?” Pleased with herself, she managed a believable bout of indignation.

  Griffin Croft glared at her. “Do not test me, Miss McFarland. You were beyond foolish this morning, and after I’d specifically warned you to be on your guard.”

  His arrogance made her positively furious. “I am here in broad daylight in a public park, with a formidable driver who’s a crack shot with a whip.” Why she repeated this now, when it hadn’t made a difference earlier, she didn’t know. Still, she had a point to make. “
Even you couldn’t perceive my behavior as wholly reckless.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  She didn’t bother to answer and instead crossed her arms over her chest, returning his glare. From the open carriage door, she saw Buckley holding the reins of the horse and watching their exchange with frank fascination.

  Delaney was about to order Mr. Croft to leave at once, but then he reached over and closed the door. A wild glimmer darted across his lake-water irises. Her pulse crackled, and a heated shiver rushed through her. Was he going to kiss her again? Prove how dangerous it was to be alone with a desperate man? Strangely, the idea wasn’t as unappealing as it ought to have been. Quite the opposite.

  “This primitive display of yours has gone quite far enough,” she said sternly. Or at least, she hoped it sounded as such. “You have certainly made your point. It terrifies me to think that right at this moment, I could be sitting across from someone who sent a request to meet him, in addition to a plea that I bring an escort.” Hmm . . . it probably didn’t suit her argument to add the last part. Blast her mouth for speaking too freely.

  He moved to the edge of the seat across from hers, which forced her to lift her chin to look up at him. His nearness had a terrible effect on her equilibrium. Looking into his eyes just now, it felt as if she were tilting forward. “You are fortunate to have men looking out for your welfare instead of looking to take advantage. Am I to assume your arrangement with Montwood is settled?”

  “In regard to me, you are to assume nothing, because you have no claim over me.” The words came out with much less vehemence and more breathy excitement than intended. Delaney noted the change in his expression too, how the hardness slipped away as his gaze slipped to her mouth. She shook her head in a way that sent several curls loose. “I am cross with Buckley for having gone to you.”

  “Do not blame him. He was worried about you.” Griffin Croft lifted a hand to smooth back those tendrils, his gloves lightly grazing her cheek. A tremor coursed through her.

  “As sweet as that is,” she said, fighting the urge to shake her head and send dozens more curls free, simply to feel his touch again, “I would rather he didn’t run to you.”