Read Online The Amorous Education of Celia Seaton by Miranda Neville - Free Book Online

Governor, of course hadn’t come with him on the chase. He’d stayed comfortable at the inn, enjoying the local ale, while Nick did the dirty work. That was the Governor’s way.
    They walked for hours behind the hideous, sniffing, slobbering dog and his boots hurt. The trail from the cottage led them to a deep brook. The bloodhound appeared baffled.
    “He can’t smell naught. Reckon she must have gone in the water,” Hobbs said. To add insult to injury, Nick had been landed with a local as a guide, a rustic with an almost impenetrable brogue. “Give him that hankie again. See if the man was still with her.”
    With great reluctance Nick pulled the handkerchief from his pocket again. Oversized and of the finest cambric, he expected to get several shillings for it when he found a customer with the initial C. He didn’t want any canine tooth marks reducing its value.
    The dog drooled on the linen square and took off along the bank, downstream.
    “He’s got the scent,” said Hobbs. “Happen we’d have her by now if she didn’t have the fellow with her.”
    Nick didn’t need to hear any cheek from Hobbs. He’d taken enough grief from the Governor when they arrived at the cottage and found her gone. The ruby wasn’t in her baggage and Nick reckoned she’d lost it long ago. But the Governor wanted to question her himself.
    He had not been amused when he learned she now had a companion.
    Yet Nick couldn’t regret robbing the gentry cove that had come to the door. He’d got a fine horse, a fat purse, a gold watch, and some first-rate togs out of the deal. If the handkerchief could be sold for shillings, the coat and waistcoat were worth pounds. Too bad he hadn’t been able to get the boots off. They might have fit him, better than his own. His only slip-up was leaving the man alive. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
    The stupid animal lumbered up and down the bank several times until they found a place that looked fordable. Crossing the stream ruined his damn boots, but on the other side they picked up the trail again.

Chapter 8
     
Never underestimate the importance of cheese.
     
    A t least, she remarked cheerfully, it was a road of sorts. And a road must eventually lead somewhere. It wouldn’t make any sense to build one otherwise.
    Mr. Compton informed her that English roads, except those built by the Romans, derived from cow paths, thus their meandering habit. And since he didn’t put much credence in the logical powers of female cattle, he wouldn’t be surprised if this particular rutted, weed-infested trail led them over a cliff to their deaths.
    She pointed out, with the brilliant logic of female humans (a trait she specifically mentioned), that since they were on the Yorkshire moors and nowhere near the sea, there weren’t any cliffs for them to fall over.
    He gave her the distinct impression that, though he was too polite to mention it, he would be happy to assist her in her descent should they find themselves in the vicinity of, say, Dover, a place famous for cliffs.
    To put it bluntly, Mr. Compton was out of sorts, grouchy even. She wasn’t quite sure why. Not that being hungry, dirty, and chased by vicious dogs wasn’t enough to try a man’s temper. But she thought something else had upset him and nobly forbore from nettling him. A shame because, even when grouchy, Mr. Compton was fun to spar with. It would have made the journey go faster. Instead she plodded on in silence, thinking about every meal she’d ever eaten and wishing she’d appreciated them more at the time.
    They’d barely exchanged a word in an hour when they reached a crossroads.
    “Any preference?” he asked.
    “I wish we had any idea which way is Stonewick. We may be going in the opposite direction.”
    “Very likely.”
    At that moment they heard the clop of hooves coming toward them. “Shall we hide?” she whispered. “It may be the kidnappers.”
    He straightened his back, folded his arms, and frowned. “If