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

it is, I am not in the mood to run. I have a few questions I’d like answered.”
    That seemed rash to Celia, who had no desire to face even one man with a gun, let alone two or more. On the other hand it might be a harmless stranger who could help them. The lack of a suitable hiding place decided her. She took up position beside him in the road and tried to imitate his fighting stance, learned, no doubt, at Gentleman Jackson’s Bond Street Saloon, and the way he brandished his fists.
    “Thumbs out,” he murmured. “On second thought, if it comes to a fight, leave it to me.”
    He looked very dangerous with his dark eyes and darkening jaw. Perversely, Celia found the situation exciting.
    The horse came closer and rounded a curve into view. It was almost a disappointment when a cart followed. The driver wore a rustic smock, similar to that worn by Mr. Compton, but there all resemblance to either her kidnapper or her companion ceased. Fair, thinning hair, long whiskers and a red shiny face topped the largest man Celia had ever seen. Even Mr. Compton was dwarfed by him. Though he might not be taller, he was twice as broad. She hoped very much it wouldn’t come to fisticuffs. She feared this giant would pound poor Mr. Compton to pulp.
    “Not him,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen him. But may I suggest I do the talking? Good people, we are not Gypsies .” She mimicked his condescending tones.
    Mr. Compton smiled. “Be my guest. I can’t wait to see you apply the common touch.”
    “Good afternoon, sir,” she said with a friendly wave.
    The giant made a noise. His horse understood and stopped. “Afternoon.”
    She smiled. “Fine day.”
    “Aah.”
    “Would you be good enough to tell us how to reach Stonewick. Is it far?”
    He scratched his balding pate while he gave the matter some thought. Like many Yorkshiremen, he seemed a man of few words. He did, however, have eyes and they were surveying her person with noticeable interest. She tugged at her shift to make sure it covered both shoulders and tried to lengthen the blanket to cover her ankles.
    After a lengthy perusal he glanced at Mr. Compton, whom he found less worthy of examination, then back at Celia. He scratched his shoulder.
    “East.”
    “You mean Stonewick is to the east?”
    “Aye.” He pointed to one of the four roads.
    “If we take that road will we reach Stonewick?”
    “Maybe.”
    “How far is it?”
    The question provoked him to eloquence. “Don’t rightly know.”
    “Do you have any idea? I’m sure you must know the moors very well.”
    “Over Revesby way.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “Ten, fifteen miles mayhap.”
    “Oh dear! That is a long way. Do you know anyone who could drive us?”
    He thought some more and scratched some more, his stomach this time. “Nay. But I can take you partway.”
    “Oh, would you? How kind? Shall we get in the cart?”
    The giant looked at Mr. Compton and waved his thumb. “Him in the back. You ride with me.”
    As she sat squeezed next to the driver on the bench, Celia’s nostrils were overpowered by a smell she preferred to identify only as rural. To be fair her own scent was likely less than fragrant.
    “I am Celia and that’s Terence back there,” she said, trying to speak and breathe through her mouth at the same time. “What’s your name?”
    “Joe.”
    “Are you married, Joe?”
    “Nay.”
    “Do you have a sweetheart?”
    “Nay.”
    “Do you have a farm?”
    “Aye.”
    “A sheep farm?”
    “Twenty sheep in t’ flock.”
    “So many! Do you have many lambs? I love lambs.”
    Terence grasped the sides to save himself from being bruised black and blue by the jouncing cart and listened to Celia prattle on to their laconic host. He hoped the oaf wasn’t misinterpreting her interest in him. He hadn’t failed to notice a gleam of interest in Joe’s eyes. Women, he guessed, weren’t in plentiful supply out here on the moors. Then something riveted his attention: a