Mistletoe and Mischief Read Free

valet, so he had ample opportunity to examine his young passenger.
    She had placed herself in the forward-facing seat and now looked at him with chagrin. After a slight hesitation, she reached out and patted the bench beside her.
    “Wouldn't you rather face forward?” she said. “I should not at all mind being crowded, and I would hate for my presence to render you uncomfortable in your own carriage.”
    Her heedless invitation astonished him. “My dear young lady,” he said, “you must take more care with what you say. After all, you don't even know me. To be quite frank, you can have no certain notion of my intentions! “
    She opened her eyes wide, as if he had startled her. He was glad to see that his words had made some impression on her at last.
    “Oh, dear! “ she said, sighing. “Do you have any dishonourable intentions? I had somehow imagined you quite indifferent to me. Well, then–” She picked up her reticule, wrapped her arms tightly about her and prepared to step down.
    “No, wait.” She turned. “You misunderstand me,” Charles said. Exasperation was now added to his list of reeling emotions. “My dear Miss--Confound it! What is your name, anyway?”
    She arched her brows. “I am not certain, sir, that I should give you my name. You seem to be under the impression that I am not a proper person to know.”
    Charles swallowed his irritation. The truth was that he was abominably worn out, but that was no excuse for abusing this young lady in need of his help. He took a deep breath to calm himself.
    He said, “Please. You must pardon me and make yourself comfortable.” He gestured towards the bench. “Please.”
    After hesitating a few moments, she seated herself again, and Charles reached for a lap rug to make her warm. She snuggled under it with a grateful sigh and thanked him, so he spread another over her for good measure.
    “Now, then,” he said kindly, “you have no reason to fear my intentions. I shall be happy to return you to your guardian unharmed, if you will only tell me who you are, Miss--?”
    “Louisa. My name is Louisa Davenport,” she said, smiling again. “And I am truly grateful, my lord. At least ... I assume you are a lord from the crest on your carriage, but if you would prefer not to give me your real name, I shall understand perfectly.”
    A brief twinge of shame stung him. He had just been thinking that perhaps he should give her a false name in the event she did prove to be a fortune-hunter. But her astute perception, coupled with his realization that no one could have expected to waylay him or any other wealthy noble in such a spot, made him answer honestly, “Not at all. I am Charles Beckworth, Lord Wroxton, at your service.”
    His kindness made her blush when his arrogance had not.
    “You must not think,” she said warmly, “that I do not know how shocking my behaviour must seem to you. And I am painfully aware of the inconvenience I have caused. I can only blame myself for my folly. If you return me to my guardian, I shall promise to be as little burden to you as possible.”
    The tears he had seen before twinkled on her eyelashes before splashing onto the silk of her spencer. With an impatient gesture, she wiped them away and sat facing him, the healthy colour returning to her cheeks.
    Charles bent forward, his resentment momentarily replaced by sympathy. He patted the hands folded in her lap.
    “There,  there,” he said, feeling chastened for his earlier ill feelings. “We shall have you home in a trice.”
    He lowered the window of the coach, just far enough to call to Timothy. “If I may just have your direction, Miss Davenport, I shall give it to my servant and we can be on our way.”
    Already recovered from her moment of sadness, she beamed at him again and said, “To be certain, I was fortunate you came along. In such a well made carriage, I am sure we shall get there in no time. Tell your coachman, if you please, that my aunt and uncle