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Chapter Nine
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Shocked and outraged, Sally waited on the steps for Sir Charles to return from what was sure to be a futile pursuit. She’d seen Meg’s determined expression as she drove away, and she was under no illusions that her niece intended to be caught.
What had got into the girl? And what did she expect this ridiculous prank to achieve? Was this a ploy to leave her alone with Sir Charles, so he could obtain Sally’s permission to seek Meg’s hand? It seemed a bizarre way to ensure an interview.
“She outran me,” Sir Charles called as he came out of the trees.
“I could strangle her,” Sally said, too angry to pretend that this was a minor escapade. “What on earth is her game?”
Sir Charles crossed the forecourt and ran up the steps toward her, his smile wry. “I think she wants to give us a chance to talk.”
Oh, no. Perhaps he was about to ask her permission to marry her niece. Sally would have to say yes, but it would feel like drinking acid.
She regarded him warily. “We talk all the time.”
He grimaced. “Not lately. You’ve done your best to avoid me over the last few days.”
“Oh.” She’d hoped he wouldn’t notice.
When he took her arm, she jumped like a startled rabbit. She told herself to pull away, but the warmth flooding her veins was too delicious.
Dear Lord, she was a disaster. How could she hope to scotch this infatuation if she stole every opportunity to nourish it?
“Come inside,” Sir Charles said, his deep voice steady. “There’s no point staring after her. She won’t come back until she’s ready.”
How she appreciated his equable temper. Many men, her late husband included, would rage and curse at Meg’s foolishness. And probably end up blaming Sally for their predicament.
“She’s usually such a biddable girl.” Sally said, not entirely honestly.
“When it suits her, I suspect,” Sir Charles responded wryly. “Miss Meg and I understand one another very well.”
What exactly did that mean? Did understanding Meg mean they had an understanding? Sally was too much of a coward to ask. “When she comes back, I’ll speak sternly to her.”
“I doubt it will do much good. She’s a headstrong creature in her self-effacing way.” Sir Charles kept hold of Sally’s arm and drew her back inside the house. “Although I’m sure you’ll feel better if you read her a lecture.”
“Should we ask Mrs. Brown for help?” Sally struggled to control a pang of disappointment when he released her and wandered over to stare out the window.
“She’s going to her sister’s. We caught her on the way out. And Mr. Brown is twenty miles away.”
Oh, dear, it sounded like they were stuck here. Trepidation trickled down Sally’s spine. It had been hard enough hiding her yen for Sir Charles in a crowd of people. Here where they were alone, she had a sick feeling that he’d discover she felt much more than friendship for him.
And that promised years of awkward family gatherings, once he’d married Meg.
Her hands unsteady, Sally took off her bonnet and set it on a carved Jacobean chest against the wall. “Is there a village nearby?”
“No. I warned you both that the property is isolated. The nearest village is Upton, but it’s a good ten miles away.”
“Anyway,” she said, striving to be sensible as she stripped off her gloves, “we need to stay here and wait for Meg to come back. There’s no point in us getting lost, too. Do you know how far the Gailes estate is from here?”
“Seven miles at least.” He turned to her. “If you wish, I can go cross-country to find it. Or try to make it to Upton.”
Sally shook her head. “What would that achieve?”
“We’re alone in this house. I don’t want you to feel unsafe.” He moved behind her to help her take off her pelisse. When he leaned close enough for her to catch the clean scent of his skin, her ungovernable heart missed a beat.