Page 24 of A Daring Pursuit

Winfield inclined his head. “Very good, my lord.” He ducked back out.

“Well, if the earldom hadn’t hit you at this point, that should do it,” Noah told him with a half-smile and shaking his head.

Chapter Nine

Geneva huddled inher bedchamber, mulling over the past hour when Miss Isabelle had given Geneva and Abra their own private concert. Miss Isabelle may have struggled to a degree with walking, but it certainly had not affected her talent and skill with the pianoforte.

The girl was fanciful in the most feminine and dainty way possible. On the diametric end of the scale of Geneva.Heavens.Naming Mr. Oshea’s bedchamber with the word “cock” in it! She was still laughing. Notably, with an edge of hysteria. Geneva was no green girl, having grown up in Soho. One could not walk down the street without some drunken sot offering his endowed manly parts by whatever name. Geneva could name at least five off the top of her head.Penis, cock, prick, staff, rod.The labels were endless.

She took a sip of a most excellent oolong tea, set it down, and paced her bedchamber. With each pass of an English mantel clock over the hearth, the slow-moving hands appeared stuck. Abra’s and her entire strategy was based on timing. Suppers were notoriously long, and country dinners, Abra had said, were no different than those held in town. The plan required Geneva to enter the late earl’s chamber at the second course. Because no one dared leaving the table at a second course and as such would give Geneva plenty of time to search with a minimal chance of being caught. Their strategy set, Geneva and Abra feignedmegrims. Abra would remain in the sitting room and wait for the promised tray to be sent up.

On her fifth or twentieth pass—she’d lost count, though she did not care—impatience finally got the better of her and she hurried to the sitting room. Sheer determination surged through her. She stalked to the door and peered out, then cast a last glance over her shoulder at her friend.

“Be careful,” Abra whispered, worry creasing her forehead.

“I will,” she promised. Geneva slipped into the corridor devoid of servants and guests alike.

Thankfully, the master suite was nearby. Just down the hall, closer to the stairs, running the length of the windows to the west in the direction of the stables, she surmised. On stealthy steps, she rounded the corner to elaborate double doors and a raised threshold that marked its importance for master and mistress of the castle. Doors of heavy oak with black, decorative hinges brought to mind something out ofHistoria Regum Britanniae.

Rather than the current style of an actual doorknob or even a lever, to enter, she clasped a thick, iron, circular handle and turned. The stout door was heavy and took concerted effort, but she took comfort in the well-oiled hinges for their lack of creaking. It was easy convincing herself she wasn’t trespassing, as no one was occupying the suite since the old earl’s death. She pushed inside and stopped—

“What are you doing here?” Miss Hale demanded. She came to her feet and shook out her skirts, attempting to hide the bag she’d been rifling through.

Geneva glanced behind her then stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and smirked. “I could ask you the same. Whose bag is that?”

Miss Hale scowled. “The Duke of Rathbourne’s.”

Geneva gasped.

“I see you’ve heard of him.”

You’ve no idea, Geneva didn’t say. “Yes.” She surveyed the bedchamber, taking in the rich, velvet curtains in forest green over the windows that matched the bedcurtains. Dark-paneled walls lacked artwork. This was a man’s room and Rathbourne, Meredith’s father, had been handed the honor of lodging in it. She willed her heart to slow its pounding and brought her gaze back to Miss Hale. “Why aren’t you at dinner?”

“Why aren’tyou?”

Geneva indicated her frock. “I’ve nothing to wear and I am untitled. I shan’t be missed. You, however…” She let her voice trail.

“Being untitled has nothing to do with anything as you well know.” Her eyes flickered over Geneva’s unflattering dark blue muslin then rose to her face. “I must concede regarding the dress, but all right.” Miss Hale’s sputter spelled out her frustration. “I thought to… to. Oh, what does it matter? You are correct. I must go, as I willcertainlybe missed.” She stalked around Geneva to the door. “This isn’t over.”

“No. It’s not over,” Geneva said evenly.

Miss Hale opened the door and glanced out, then indicated Geneva precede her, and with no other option, she did. In fact, Miss Hale walked Geneva to the “Morpho” Suite then followed her inside and again, Geneva stopped so suddenly, Miss Hale bumped into her.

Abra stood near the hearth, and Pasha sat at a table near the windows, as unobtrusive as ever. “There you are. Oh, dear,” she ended on a whisper when her gaze landed just beyond Geneva’s shoulder.

Mr. Oshea, Noah Oshea, turned from his place near the window.

Miss Hale stepped around Geneva and strolled to the hearth. “Well, isn’t this an interesting tête-à-tête.”

“What are you about, Docia?” Mr. Oshea knew her quite well it seemed.

“It’sMiss Hale,” she hissed back.

Geneva’s lips twitched and she bit the bottom one upon catching Abra’s mirth. There was certainly no love lost between Miss Hale and Mr. Oshea.

“I’ve been visiting with Miss Wimbley. She’s agreed to accompany me to Chaston tonight,” Miss Hale said with a sly smile.

Geneva drew in a sharp inhale as apparently she had lost the ability to forgeanyother response when it came toanycomment the woman deigned to make.

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