“Is there a legitimate reason why you voluntarily abandoned a perfectly good bed in favor of these stiff chairs?”
Sam’s eyes popped open, her head snapping up. Lord Westwood resided in the adjacent armchair, his long limbs folded in a reclined position, his lips curved in a pleasant smile. The bruising on his face, diminished over the past few days, was replaced by dark circles under his eyes—an indication of sleeplessness.
“I have nightmares,” Sam replied, still reeling from the sudden shock of discovering Lord Westwood sitting beside her in the library.
“I am quite aware of your nocturnal difficulties… everyone in the house can hear you scream.” His weary voice held an edge of concern.
Sam’s mouth opened into a tiny “o.” She flushed but refused to look away for fear he might vanish. Her hands twisted in her lap. “Who told you?”
“Thomas,” Lord Westwood replied, lifting a glass from the nearby table. He sipped it slowly, watching Sam over the rim.
“Is that why you came?”
“That is one of the reasons.” He dropped the glass lightly on the table again, turning his full attention to Sam. “Are they always of your cousin?”
“Yes.” She nodded and shivered, Franklin’s leering face floated into her mind.
“If I were here, do you believe they would desist?”
She wanted to lie, wanted him to stay, but she could not. She bit her lip and dropped her gaze to his boots, muddied from the recent storm. “No,” she whispered miserably.
The chair groaned as Lord Westwood leaned forward, reaching out his hand to tip Sam’s chin up. Before he could touch her, Sam shrank away from him, vehemently shaking her head.
“Please, no. If you are a dream, you will disappear as soon as you touch me, and if you are really here,” she paused and exhaled slowly, “I cannot bear to watch you leave again.”
His green eyes burned, a myriad of emotions passed through them. With a sigh, he retracted his fingers and relaxed into the chair. “I am an illusion.”
“For a mirage, you look exhausted,” Sam murmured.
“It stems from not sleeping in my bed.” A hint of wickedness tinted Lord Westwood’s half-smile. “However, that should not keep you from its decadent softness.”
Sam crossed her arms. “I refuse to sleep in your chamber until you do.”
“Is that a fact?” Lord Westwood arched an eyebrow. “I am intrigued by your request. However, I am surprised to learn your brother has not required you to discontinue this nonsense.” He gestured at the room.
“Wilhelmina has been distracting him,” Sam replied with a minute smile.
“I see.” Lord Westwood grinned, his eyes roving over her. “You are quite distracting yourself. Had we more time, I might accept your offer and put you to bed properly.”
A tingle ran the length of Sam’s spine, pooling in her abdomen. She cocked her head to the side, considering his statement. “Would that convince you to stay?”
“Would you forego your inane plot to ensnare Mr. Morris?” Lord Westwood volleyed in a dark whisper.
“No,” Sam replied. She frowned. “Have you no faith in me?"
“I have no doubt your plan will work, Miss Hastings.” Lord Westwood’s face hardened. “However, I have no intention of sacrificing my fiancée in order to prove that fact.” He scooted forward again, reaching across the distance between them. His fingers stopped short of her cheek, heat radiating from his skin.
Sam closed her eyes, leaning into his hand. “If I open my eyes and you vanish, I am going to be extremely angry with you, Lord Westwood.”
He chuckled, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. She shivered under his caress, her lips parting. “Still here, Miss Hastings,” he rumbled.
His hand skimmed over her jaw, sliding behind her neck and tugging gently. Sam slid out of her chair, flying across the small space between them, landing on his lap. His arms wrapped around her, surrounding her in his intoxicating scent. She opened her eyes, a smile tugging at her mouth.
“Hello, Lord Westwood.”
“Hello, Miss Hastings.” He grinned and bent his head, pressing his lips to hers. She moaned, sliding her hands up his arms. “I missed that sound,” he murmured as he pulled away, his eyes gleaming. “It’s my second favorite sound that comes from your mouth.”
“What is the first?”
“My name.”
A wicked grin split his face. His mouth claimed hers, his tongue pushing past her lips, teasing. Shivers raced down Sam’s spine. She shifted on his lap, desire pulsing through her body. His hand clamped down on her legs, pinning them.
“You must stop wiggling.” Passion raged behind his eyes. “I doubt your brother would enjoy discovering you in a compromising position.”
“You are my fiancé,” replied Sam, purposefully wriggling in his lap.
He bumped his forehead against hers. “I am pleased you still wish to bestow that title upon me; however, tempting Edward’s ire is not something I wish to do at this moment.”
A door echoed directly above them, both glancing at the ceiling.
“That must be Thomas,” stated Lord Westwood, expelling a heavy sigh. “His chamber is situated directly over the library.”
“When will you return?” asked Sam, her voice cracking, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She blinked rapidly.
“Three days’ time, unless we capture Morris sooner.”
“You will miss the Shirely masque.”
“Such is my loss.” Lord Westwood chuckled. “I do enjoy moonlit strolls with my fiancée. However, since I cannot convince you to abandon your foolish plan…” He paused, studying her. “I cannot convince you, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Then I shall have to miss the masque.” He drew his finger down her cheek. “Will you promise me something?”
“Yes,” Sam replied hesitantly, drawing out the word.
“Please be cautious. I much prefer my fiancée remain alive.”
A second door sounded in the house. Sam glared at the ceiling in annoyance. It appeared both Mr. Reid and Miss Clemens had awoken for the fishing excursion. The morning approached, bringing the impending end of her unexpected rendezvous with Lord Westwood.
“I must take my leave,” said Lord Westwood. He rose, depositing her on the armchair, placing a kiss to her lips. She slid her fingers through his hair. Clasping her wrists, he lowered her arms to her sides. “Close your eyes.”
When she opened them, Lord Westwood had evaporated, but his scent lingered in the library. Moments later, the door cracked open to reveal Mr. Reid, his brown eyes sparkling in the firelight.
“Miss Hastings, I am pleased to find you awake and ready to depart,” Mr. Reid stated jovially. “Will Miss Clemens be joining us this morning?”
“Yes, she will,” Miss Clemens replied from the hallway, her soft voice floating over Mr. Reid’s shoulder.
“Excellent.” He grinned, turning to greet Miss Clemens with his alluring smile. He seemed to have recovered his usual buoyancy. Sam assumed Lord Westwood’s late-night visit alleviated some of Mr. Reid’s anguish.
The three of them set off, fishing gear in hand, toward the sunrise and a nearby stream which passed through the country estate. Mr. Reid wandered obscurely, backtracking several times and crossing through a particular meadow three times before they emerged through the trees lining the riverbank. The journey took almost an hour, due to his chaotic path.
“My secret spot.” Mr. Reid gestured grandly at the stream gurgling past. “Please do not tell my brother of its location.”
“Mr. Reid, how could you possibly expect us to find this place again?” Miss Clemens asked breathlessly. She stopped to adjust her hat, knocked askew by a low-hanging branch.
“Beautiful,” murmured Sam, watching the sunlight glitter on the river’s gentle current.
Mr. Reid spent the first hour assisting Miss Clemens as she truly had no idea how to use any of the fishing equipment. This allowed Sam the leisure to reminisce on her earlier conversation with Lord Westwood—although his actual presence still remained in question. Was it all just a dream? How could he have escaped from the library without meeting his brother and Miss Clemens in the hallway? She pondered several possibilities as to Lord Westwood’s ability to vanish soundlessly; none of them made any sense.
As Sam mulled over his disappearance, she watched Mr. Reid. He stood, partially behind Miss Clemens, instructing her on the finer points of casting. Interestingly, he was a good teacher, patient and encouraging. Miss Clemens flourished under his tutelage, learning the sport quickly. She managed to cast her own line and by mid-morning, remained the only person to reel in a catch. Squealing, Miss Clemens glowed with delight as the trout popped out of the water. Mr. Reid grabbed the slippery fish, unhooked it from the line, and carefully placed it inside a basket. Miss Clemens’ skill was apparent as two more fish quickly joined the first.
After another hour of little nibbles and a couple of delightful shrieks, Mr. Reid leaned over the basket to determine the winner, his head bobbing absently as he counted fish. He glanced up with a grin.
“Miss Hastings, while you may not have bested me this morning, I will admit defeat to a woman.” He took an exaggerated bow toward Miss Clemens. “Miss Clemens, I declare you the official champion of today’s contest. Aunt Abigail will be extremely pleased with your progress on inappropriate talents.”
Miss Clemens giggled and curtsied awkwardly. “Thank you for your kind words.” She blushed. “My proficiency can only be attributed to your excellent instruction, Mr. Reid.”
Fatigued and hungry, the trio decided to abandon their sport in favor of lunch. With Mr. Reid leading the way, taking a more direct route, they arrived at the house within twenty minutes. Dropping the fishing gear at the rear kitchen entrance, they wandered in single file through the dining room. Mr. Reid snagged a tray of sandwiches off the sideboard and headed for the sitting room, following the voices of his mother and aunt. Miss Clemens trailed behind, glowing as she entered the room under Mr. Reid’s boisterous announcement of her newfound fishing ability.
“Sammie,” Edward called. He popped his head out of the study, blocking her progress with his body. “You have avoided me for the past few days with much success.”
Sam grimaced. “I have been extremely busy.”
Edward’s eyes narrowed. “I am given to believe you have been wandering about freely at all hours.”
“Not at all hours,” muttered Sam, her eyes slid to the inviting sanctuary of the sitting room entryway.
“I told you to remain on the grounds.” He grabbed her arm, twisting her toward him.
“I did not stray off the estate. Mr. Reid would attest to that since you requested he follow me exclusively,” Sam replied in a huff. Her stomach rumbled, protesting the slight amount of food consumed over the past few days.
“Thomas’ behavior is outside of my control,” Edward bit off.
“So is mine.” Sam smacked his hand away.
“Samantha,” Edward warned, his tone aggravated. Sam forced herself to swallow her next reply.
“Yes, Edward,” she replied sweetly, sending him a winning smile.
Edward pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “I received a missive from Benjamin while you were larking about this morning.”
Sam’s heart leapt. Could they have already captured Franklin?
“What did he say?”
“He and Mr. Davis have been unable to locate Franklin. The original source which claimed he was hiding at an old family farm was correct. They followed him from the farm to his country estate, chasing him south from the estate this morning, however, they lost his trail. They believe he is circling back in this direction. Therefore, I must ask you not to leave the house without a chaperone.”
“I suppose I will be spending most of my time in the library.” Sam sighed.
“If you would prefer a change of scenery, you could return to your chamber,” Edward suggested, tilting his head.
“It is Lord Westwood’s chamber.”
A dark cloud crossed Edward’s face. “It is your chamber, and I expect you to remain in it this evening and every evening afterward. If I hear of you sleeping anywhere but that room, I will lock you in myself.”
“Do not leave the house without an escort and do not sleep anywhere but Lord Westwood’s bed.” Sam fluttered her eyelashes. “Have I missed anything, dear brother?”
“Samantha, this is serious.” Edward growled.
“I am locked in a house with two gentlemen, numerous servants, and a pack of wild children. I am safe.”
“Franklin had an accomplice.” Edward leaned forward, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Who do you think that person is, Sammie?”
“I do not know.”
“Neither do we.” Edward gestured at the foyer. “What if that person is already inside these walls?”