Free Candice Hern by Once a Dreamer Page A

discover if it is necessary.” Eleanor sighed with a sudden rush of renewed concern. “Poor Belinda. Poor, foolish girl.”
     
    “They ain’t been difficult to track.” Obidiah Hackett removed his dingy white gloves and dropped them into his upturned leather hat. “Miss Chadwick has very distinctual looks what all the ostlers and postboys recollect in fine detail. Prettylittle thing, I gather. But they still got a prodigitous lead. Can’t go on in this rain tonight, though. I’ll ride out at daybreak and catch up with Mumby.” He rummaged in his saddlebag and pulled out a thumb-worn copy of Cary’s Itinerary . Running his finger down a page, he said, “I’ll leave word for you at the Black Bull in Redburn. In the meantime, you can find me in the taproom where I plan to nurse a pint or two and work the chill out o’ me bones. If you’ll be excusin’ me, guv’ner. Ma’am.” He nodded toward Mrs. Tennant, then hoisted the saddlebag over his shoulder and made his way toward the public rooms.
    Simon noted the concern in her eyes. “Well, at least we haven’t lost their trail,” he said.
    “Yes, I thank heaven for that. I only wish the rain had not forced us to stop so soon.”
    “We might as well make the best of it. I understand the food here is quite good. I suggest we shake off the dust of the road and settle down to a pleasant dinner. Will half an hour do?”
    She agreed, for which Simon was grateful. He had thought she might ask for a meal to be sent to her room. Instead, he was to be given an opportunity to make a better impression on her than he had done so far. He hated that he had got off to such a bad start with her, that she thought so poorly of him. A leisurely dinner in a private parlor would be just the thing to turn the tide in his favor. A bit of flattery, a bit of flirtation—Simon knew a thing or two about wooing a lady.
    After arranging for hot water and soap to be sent up to both of their rooms, he made his way to his own bedchamber, situated along the same corridor as hers. It had been a while since he’d made do without Jennings, his valet. But since Mrs. Tennant claimed to have no maid to accompany her, it seemed overindulgent to bring Jennings. Besides, it would do Simon good to manage on his own for a while. Perhaps Mrs. Tennant had a point about his isolated ivory-tower existence. A few days on the road fending for himself would help to clear away some of the cobwebs. The lovely traveling companion was simply an added bonus.
    Half an hour later, clean-shaven and sporting fresh linen beneath a dark blue coat and figured silk waistcoat, he knocked on Mrs. Tennant’s door. She had changed into a dinner dress of striped Indian muslin tied round the waist with a long sash of embroidered Indian silk—slightly out-of-date but quite pretty. The square neckline, which might have provided an enticing display of bosom, was sadly too high and edged with an unfortunate amount of lace, and he was allowed only a teasing hint of what lay beneath. Her hair, dark as Turkish coffee and with no bonnet to hide its glory, was gathered full in the back in a Grecian style—another bit of feminine lore he recognized from the Cabinet —with soft curls framing her face. Those tantalizing curls were still a bit damp, and the faint smell of soap clung to her.
    His gaze, as ever, flicked down to her mouth.The irresistible upper lip pursed slightly, accentuating the enchanting little point that overhung the lower lip.
    Though moist and plump to tantalize
    A winsome hallmark draws the eyes:
    The tiny cusp that dips below
    The sweetly curving Cupid’s Bow.
    “Mr. Westover?”
    Devil take it, had she been speaking to him? Simon dragged his thoughts away from the ode and its object. “I beg your pardon?”
    “I asked where we might find the private parlor.” She was looking at him in such an odd way, he wondered how long he’d been lost in contemplation of her mouth.
    “Oh.” He gave himself a mental