“I’ve arranged for gifts for everyone.” Oliver stretched his long legs out in front of him and leaned back against the squabs with a comfortable grunt, the tips of his boots brushing her hems.
Dinah jerked her skirts back.
Christmas gifts sounded innocent enough. Too innocent. “What are you up to, Oliver?”
“Me? Why, not a thing. I just have a stop or two on our way to Cliff’s Edge to fetch a few gifts. That doesn’t sound too wicked, does it? I even have a gift for you, Miss Bishop.”
Dinah stiffened. It had been years since she’d received a gift for Christmas. She never expected any, and it was best to keep it that way. “I don’t want any gifts.”
“Nonsense. Everyone wants gifts for Christmas. I wouldn’t dream of appearing at Cliff’s Edge empty-handed.” He gave her a reproachful look. “There’s no need to look so put-upon. Plumstead isn’t so very far out of our way.”
“It’s south of London, Oliver. Cliff’s Edge is north.” It was more than an hour out of their way, and another hour to get back on the road toward Chelmsford.
Oliver shrugged, as if two hours was too insignificant to warrant a second thought. “I can’t imagine why you’re making such a fuss. We’ll be back on the road and on our way to Cliff’s Edge soon enough.”
It couldn’t be soon enough for Dinah. For reasons she didn’t care to examine, it made her nervous to be alone in the coach with him. He was too…too…enticing, not to mention devious. If she’d known her nap would lead to a detour to Kent, she never would have—
Dinah jerked upright in her seat and fixed Oliver with an accusing glare. “No wonder you were so anxious for me to fall asleep! You lured me into a nap so you could whisk us off to Plumstead without my having a chance to protest!”
Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Lured? My, you are suspicious, aren’t you? It was nothing so nefarious as that. You were fatigued, so I encouraged you to rest. That’s all.”
Dinah subsided against the cushioned seat with a huff. “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t drag me all the way to Scotland to fetch Lord Christopher’s whisky.”
“Scotland? Don’t be ridiculous. We’re going south, but only as far as Sittingbourne.”
“Sittingbourne? That’ll take ages!” Dinah hadn’t meant to let out quite such a screech, but before she could apologize the horses leapt forward with a start, and just like that they were moving again.
Oliver beamed at her. “Well done, Miss Bishop! I didn’t realize you were capable of such a shriek. We’ll have to remember that the next time Rundell and Bridge refuse to move.”
Next time? Dear God, how often did it happen? Between Oliver and his high-strung horses, a simple journey from London to Essex was turning into a days’ long scamper across the English countryside.
She was as foolish as every other lady in London, letting Oliver Angel cajole her into this as if she were a bird-witted debutante. She let out another huff, but the dark emotion swelling in her breast didn’t feel like anger.
It felt like fear.
There were times when she thought Oliver could talk her into anything.
If Oliver had realized a shriek would get the horses moving again, he would have mentioned Sittingbourne an hour ago. If Rundell and Bridge had gotten over their snit sooner, there might still be a chance they’d reach Cliff’s Edge tonight.
As it was, it didn’t look promising.
Oliver glanced out the window and a grimace twisted his lips. Darkness would fall soon, and there was the smell of more snow in the air.
A brief stop in Plumstead had seemed safe enough. If an English gentleman wanted fine Scottish whisky, he went to see Alistair Rutherford. It was as simple as that.
But what had seemed simple at the outset was turning more complicated by the moment. Alistair Rutherford was a kindly fellow, the sort who’d insist on their staying the night if the weather proved uncooperative, but Oliver would have to find some way to explain Dinah’s presence in his carriage.
He’d be damned if she was mistaken for his mistress. Dinah might not think of herself as a lady, but Oliver did. He wouldn’t have her insulted, but an unmarried lady traveling alone in a coach with a man who, despite having given up his profligate ways was still regarded in some circles as a Tainted Angel? No, that wouldn’t do. Oliver was going to have to conjure up a chaperone for her, but chaperones, alas, were scarce on the ground in Plumstead.
There was only one thing for it, but it was going to be a tricky bit of business.
When they reached Rutherford Hall, he handed Dinah down from the carriage and motioned to Grim to follow them. He rapped smartly on the door, and after a brief delay Rutherford himself appeared. When he saw Oliver, a smile spread over his face. “Well, Angel! How do you do?”
Rutherford was holding a little girl by the hand. She was six or seven years old, with wide brown eyes fixed curiously on the visitors. One of Rutherford’s many grandchildren, no doubt. He’d been married for thirty years to a pink-cheeked, white-haired lady who’d borne him eight children. Those eight children had gone on to give their proud parents twelve grandchildren.
Twelve, and counting.
“Come in, come in. You’ll catch a chill standing there.” Rutherford waved them inside. A half-dozen laughing imps were running about the entryway, there was a scent of spiced apples in the air, and fresh greenery was piled on every surface. Rutherford Hall was, in short, the essence of holiday cheer.
“Here for Lord Christopher’s whisky, are you?” Alistair Rutherford gave Oliver a hearty slap on the back. “Good day,” he added, beaming at Dinah and Grim.
Oliver took Dinah’s arm and drew her forward. “This is Miss Bishop, my lord, a dear friend of the Countess of Archer’s, and of the entire Angel family.”
“Is she, then? Well, Miss Bishop, any friend of the Angels is more than welcome at Rutherford Hall. Good lot they are, if a bit riotous, eh?”
Before Dinah could answer, Oliver hauled Grim forward. “This gentleman is Miss Bishop’s brother. Mr. Bishop is accompanying us to Cliff’s Edge to chaperone his sister. Aren’t you, Mr. Bishop?”
Oliver sensed Dinah stiffen in shock at this blatant lie, but he was staring hard at Grim, his eyebrows raised. If there was the least bit of consciousness on Grim’s face, their ruse was finished.
Grim had his flaws, but he could think quickly when the situation required it. “I, er…yes, indeed I am. My sister, Mr. Rutherford. Fond of her, you know.” He gave Dinah’s arm a clumsy pat.
Oliver turned to wink at Dinah. Her cheeks pinkened, and his lips curved. He’d never seen her blush. She looked prettier with that fetching wash of color on her cheeks than he’d ever seen her look before. If he had felt just a twinge of guilt at dragging her to Plumstead—and he wasn’t saying he did—it evaporated like dew after sunrise at the sight of that blush.
“Shall we have some refreshment before we descend to the cellars? It’s a cold day, what? Tea will warm you. Do you fancy some tea, Mathilda?” Rutherford smiled down at the little girl still clutching his hand.
Mathilda paused to give this question the gravest consideration. “Will there be cakes?”