Chapter Twelve #2
Lucian watched in dismay, as a single tear stole down Miss Hughes’ porcelain cheek.
He could not resist the impulse to reach out and brush it away.
And once he had touched her face he found that he couldn’t bear the thought of not touching her and soon his hand was cupping her cheek and he was drawing her toward him.
Her eyes widened in surprise, her rosebud mouth parted. Lucian dipped his head and captured her lips gently, pulling her against his chest.
She tasted like heaven and when she melted against him, he knew he was lost. She soon enveloped all his senses with her warm touch, floral scent, and lips that tasted of honey.
He could have kissed her forever but as his traitorous body decided that a simple kiss was not enough to satisfy, Lucian reluctantly pulled away before he lost complete control.
“Forgive me,” he said, as they broke apart. “I could not resist.”
His addled brain could not put into words what it was that he’d found so tempting, so he resorted to waving his hand in her general direction in the hope she’d understand. He was going to have to purchase some Minerva Press novels to improve his flirtation skills, he thought ruefully.
Miss Hughes lifted her hand to touch her slightly swollen lips, her blue eyes dazed.
“There is no need to apologise, my lord,” she answered, her breath shaky.
“Good,” Lucian said with some satisfaction. “For I fully intend to do it again.”
Her eyes widened with surprise but before she had a chance to upbraid him for his highly presumptuous statement, they were interrupted by the arrival of Lord Crabb’s carriage.
The driver had only drawn to a halt when the door of the gleaming vehicle was thrown open and Flora Bridges emerged.
“Miss Hughes,” she cried, ignoring Lucian completely. “Whatever is going on? Lord Crabb said that my grandmother was unwell.”
Lucian stood silently as Miss Hughes took Flora’s hand in hers and explained in a low whisper what had transpired. The poor girl’s face turned deathly pale but she squared her shoulders as Miss Hughes’ finished speaking and offered her a word of thanks.
“I will knock into her now and calm her,” she decided.
“Be careful, Flora,” Miss Hughes pleaded, turning to glance anxiously at Lucian. “Perhaps we should call for Dr Bates?”
“It’s worse he’d make her,” Flora interjected, with a shake of her dark head. “I expect grandmother is just anxious, what she needs is a familiar face. Thank you all for your help, you’ve been most kind.”
Flora nodded to them all, then set off down the lane. She picked her way quickly through the cottage garden and by the time she reached the front door, Mrs Bridges had already opened it for her.
“Thank you again,” Flora called, turning to wave at them before disappearing into the cottage.
The trio of Lucian, Miss Hughes, and Lord Crabb stood for a silent moment, and when there followed no sound of gunshots, they each gave a sigh of relief.
“I will ask Mr Mifford to call in later,” Lord Crabb reassured them, turning back toward the carriage. “He’ll let us know if Mrs Bridges requires further attention. I suppose, Ashford, that we may now call a day on our interviews.”
At Miss Hughes’ curious glance, Lucian hastily explained what he and the viscount had been at for the morning.
“You haven’t interviewed all the suspects, my lord,” she said when he had finished. “You’re yet to speak with my father.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Lucian assured her. He felt a little nervous about seeing Mr Hughes again, now that he had thoroughly kissed his daughter.
“For the sake of appearances,” she insisted, then added with a smile, “And I believe I should prefer to return home by carriage rather than by foot. It has been a long morning.”
“But of course,” Lucian bowed. He could not very well insist the girl walk home—he was a gentleman, after all.
By tacit agreement they did not discuss Mrs Bridges on the short journey to the farm.
Instead, Miss Hughes and Lord Crabb indulged Lucian by pointing out any notable landmarks they passed on the way.
Lucian’s particular favourite, was the cottage where the owner had woken up one morning to find Mr Marrowbone asleep in the bed beside him, after having had a few too many pints in The Ring.
“Mr Marrowbone lives there,” Sarah pointed to a similar cottage a half-mile up the road. “He insists he was confused but I’d hazard a guess that he was just too tired to walk the rest of the way.”
The carriage then slowed as it reached the gates to the farm. As they turned up the drive, Lucian caught sight of a fine house, covered in climbing roses.
He brushed a nervous hand over his breeches and straightened his coat. He was suddenly terrified that Mr Hughes might find him lacking and forbid Sarah from mixing with him.
You are an earl, he reassured himself as he exited the carriage and helped Miss Hughes down.
The modicum of confidence he gained quickly vanished as Sarah ushered both he and Lord Crabb inside to the kitchen where she explained to her father the reason for their visit.
“I can happily inform you both that I am no murderer,” Mr Hughes boomed, as he shook Lucian’s hand in greeting. Then he leaned in and added, low enough that only Lucian could hear, “But I am capable of it, my lord.”
He finished with a wink, though it did little to reassure Lucian, who discreetly wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.