Seeking Philbert Woodbead ( A Madcap Regency Romance ) (The Fairweather Sisters) (22 page)

“What are
you doing in my room?” Celine countered furiously.

“I have
come to discuss our next step.”

“What
step?”

“To find
your cretin. I mean your poet,” he replied. “I say, you didn’t think I would
give up the hunt, leave you in the lurch and abandon ship, did you?”

“I thought
it would be impossible now with you gone from the mansion.”

“I cannot
see you during the day, but nothing stops us from meeting during the night.”

“Lord
Elmer,” Celine said sternly, though her heart was singing, “I thought we had
said our goodbyes.”

George
placed the candle on the table and sat down next to her. “You thought you were
bidding me goodbye? Forever?”

She nodded.

“And you
didn’t even shed a tear?”

She had
sobbed her heart out, but she couldn’t tell him that. So she remained silent.

“You did
shed a tear,” he teased.

“I did
not.”

“You did.”

“Did not.”

“Liar,” he
said wagging a finger at her and winking at the same time. “You sobbed your heart
out when you thought you would never see my handsome face again.”

Celine
started giggling. “Lord Elmer, we cannot meet like this.”

“But it is
the only way. The servants will tell the pirates that I have left the mansion,
and I can sneak in like a thief at night and meet you and discuss the next
step. Everyone will be safe and we can carry on with our plans. It is the
perfect solution.”

“I don’t
think so. If anyone found you in my room, I will be ruined—”

“Why does
society treat women like a bunch of mangoes? If they are not treated a certain
way then they will rot. The best way to preserve them is to pickle them or dry
them in the sun. It is ridiculous. I don’t like pickled or dried up women—”

Celine
touched his cheek halting his tirade. “You are sweet,” she whispered.

He turned
his face and kissed the palm of her hand.

Her heart
skipped a beat.

“I found
him,” he told her abruptly.

The way he
said the words Celine knew that this time he truly had.

He jumped off
the bed and started pacing the room. “I am sorry I did not tell you before, but
I stole your poet’s painting and showed it to an artist. He said that what we
thought was a camel’s hump and three sticks was in fact a pitchfork, and the
pig was not a pig or a kidney but the devil. Hence Ludsthorpe—”

“Who?”

“Ludsthorpe
… Your poet can be found at The Devil’s Pitchfork. It is a gamblers inn. I
spent all day greasing the innkeeper’s palms. He told me that your poet does in
fact arrive at the inn every single day.”

Celine took
a sharp breath, “You did find him.”

He stopped
pacing, “I told you I would.”

Her eyes
widened. He had found her Philly.

“Are you
happy?” he asked gently.

Her eyes
darkened as he came towards her. She nodded.

“You don’t
look happy,” he said kneeling down next to the bed.

“I am
happy,” she insisted.

He took her
hand. “I have never seen a less happy person.”

“I am just
surprised. I never thought I would see Gilly … err … I mean Philly again. It is
unexpected, sudden …” She trailed off. She didn’t know how she felt, and with
George holding her gloveless hand, it was even more difficult to focus on her
beloved poet.

George
tugged at her hand pulling her closer. “Is it different?”

“Is what?”
she asked huskily.

“Kissing
someone you love?”

“What do
you mean?”

“I mean, I
have never kissed anyone I have loved before. Only girls I liked. Is it
different?”

“I have
only kissed one person and I loved him.”

“I found
your poet.”

“Yes.”

“It is your
duty to help me now.”

“How?”

“Let us begin
with a kiss,” he said slyly, “and then you can judge and tell me the
difference.”

“Begin with
a kiss,” she mused. It had been a long while since she had been kissed, and
kissing was not all that earth shattering as poets made it out to be. She had
kissed Philly often, and she recalled vaguely that it had been a pleasant
sensation.

She looked
at George’s moist parted lips, soft curly hair and the muscles moving under his
shirt. What, she wondered, would it feel like to be kissed by him? She shivered
at the thought, her mind going strangely numb.

“Amy?” he
coaxed.

Oh, to hell
with propriety, the devil with being sensible and good riddance to maidenly
modesty sang her heart and mind. She forcefully ejected Mrs Beatle from her
head and said firmly, “We will begin with a kiss.”

“Truly?” he
asked shocked.

She lost
her nerve and wilted, “No, no, I am sleepy you see and didn’t know what I was—”

He silenced
her with a kiss.

An earth
shattering kiss. A kiss that made her world tilt to never right itself again.

Her senses
contracted to a point where all she could feel was his lips on hers. Her hands
clutched his lapels in a deathly grip.

Poets were
not wrong. A single kiss could contain everything. Philbert’s kiss had made her
stomach tickle pleasantly, but George’s kiss was creating a fully fledged ball
in her belly.

Her knees
melted like jasmine flavoured ice and her emotions whirled, bounced and
ricocheted inside her.

She sighed.

She was a
young tender leaf uncurling for the sun, a soft petal letting the dew soak into
her thirsty veins, a tiny pup who had found a juicy bone to chew …

He broke
the kiss, but her lips continued to move and seek.

He tapped
her on the shoulder and she opened her eyes.

“Now tell
me the difference,” he said moving slightly away from her.

She gazed
at him feeling decidedly foolish. The kiss had sent her wits gallivanting it
seemed. “Whaa—?” she asked not very seductively.

“Tell me
the difference between kissing someone you love and someone you like? You like
me and you love Scroggs.”

“Philbert,”
she mechanically corrected.

“Yes, him.
Tell me the difference.”

“I can’t …
I don’t … It is late. I am tired. I don’t think I can think at the moment. You
will know one day …” she babbled in utter confusion, her hands mangling the bed
sheet.

He smiled.
“Go to sleep, Amy.”

She nodded,
avoiding his gaze.

He caught
her chin and forced her to look at him, “You are going to meet your poet
tomorrow, you need to rest. I will meet you in the orangery and we can depart
for The Devil’s Pitchfork at four.”

And with
another lingering kiss, he departed taking with him Celine’s peace of mind as
well as an entire night’s sleep.

***

At ten
minutes to four Celine met George in the orangery. Thereafter, the two of them spent
a few moments admiring each other’s respective shoes in awkward silence.
Another moment went by in clearing throats.

Finally
George spoke, “I think we should go and sit in the carriage. I brought the veil
for you this time. Here,” he said pulling out the dark cloth from his coat
pocket.

Celine took
it and with numb fingers tried to attach it to her bonnet.

“Let me,”
George said reaching for her.

Celine took
two hurried steps backwards almost toppling over a plant, “No, I can do it.”

His face
darkened but he nodded.

They walked
towards the carriage hidden behind trees, and all through the walk Celine kept
a good distance between them. A single kiss had changed their relationship
overnight. She felt more aware of him now than she ever had. Once she would
have thought nothing of touching his sleeve, and now the very thought set her
heart racing.

He too
seemed to be behaving oddly with her. His eyes met hers and flittered away only
to meet again a moment later. His shoulders were tensed and his mouth was set
in a grim line. His whole form seemed filled with suppressed energy. Words
perched on the tip of his tongue but were never spoken.

Her heart
stopped for a fraction of a second when she had to take his help in climbing
into the carriage. Her hesitating fingers clutched his, and even through her
thick white gloves the heat of him seared her palm.

He helped
her in and quickly let go.

She busied
herself arranging skirts looking at anything but him.

He
pretended to look for his cigar.

All at once
the carriage started shaking from side to side as if someone was energetically
bouncing up and down on the roof.

It yanked
them out of their brooding moods, and they eyed each other in astonishment.

“Lord
Elmer?” Celine asked nervously, “I think someone is trying to cut a hole in the
roof.”

George did
not get a chance to reply, for at that moment two masked men burst into the
carriage.

One held an
evil looking snickersnee and the other an equally vile looking rifle.

Everyone
froze.

George and
Celine had frozen in shock, while the muscled men had frozen because it
appeared as if they wanted to be admired in their deadly masked forms, swathed
in black, holding newly acquired, glinting weapons of destruction.

They
narrowed their eyes and snarled dangerously.

Celine
stared back at them. Her chin lifted in defiance, and her hands slipped into
her pockets.

They
smirked at her defiance and lifted up their weapons.

George
moved but did not get a chance to do anything more than take a step, for Celine
whipped out two glass jars from her pockets.

The men
eyed the glass jars in confusion.

This time
Celine smirked as she undid the lids and flung the contents of the jars at the
men.

The men
screeched in agony.

George leaped
at the man with the rifle and wrenched it out of his hand. “What was that?” he
panted.

“Chilli
powder,” Celine replied as she twirled and with pointed feet kicked between the
other man’s eyes. It successfully knocked the man to the ground, and she grabbed
the knife out of his hand.

“Good
girl,” George grunted in reply. He dragged the unconscious men towards the
door, and she gave him a helping hand.

“On the
count of three,” he told her lifting one of the men by the shoulders.

She nodded
and caught hold of his ankles.

“Now, one,
two and … three,” he yelled, and they swung the man to and fro between them
before flinging him out of the carriage. They did the same with the other man.

“That was
easy,” George said, brushing off a little lint on his coat. He turned around
and his smile faded.

One Legged
Tim stood in the middle of the carriage. He grinned, his gold teeth sparkling.

Celine
looked up. Tim had cut a large hole in the roof of the carriage.

She gasped.

When she
looked back down, she found One Legged Tim unconscious on the carriage floor. A
dart with a turkey tail feather was sticking out from his buttock.

“This time
I was prepared,” George said pleased.

“I think
some more men are coming this way,” Celine announced looking out of the window.

“Why is
this blasted carriage not moving?” George growled pulling out more poisoned
darts from his coat pockets, breeches, shirt, underneath his hat, shoes and
socks.

Celine took
some darts and moved to one window while George went to the other window.

Sixteen rifles
pointed back at them.

The dart
dropped out of Celine’s hand. “We are dead.”

The
carriage lurched.

George flew
across the carriage and landed on top of Celine. They both ended up on the
floor with a thud.

When Celine
stopped seeing stars, she noticed the carriage was moving and the walls were
being peppered with bullets.

Finally
everything became silent and Nithercott’s head appeared at the window. Celine
no longer cared if he was hanging by his toenails. She was simply too happy to
scold.

“We escaped.
It was a miracle,” Nithercott grinned.

“How did
they know where to find us?” George mused.

“The driver
was bribed,” Nithercott informed them. “I knocked him out.”

“Who is
driving now?” Celine asked.

“I am,”
Nithercott replied.

“But you are
here …” Celine trailed off. She heard the hysterical note in her voice.