The Amorous Education of Celia Seaton Read Online Free Page A

kidnapper must have left it behind.”
    “And no doubt replaced it with my coat and shirt. I trust they were more elegant than this . . . thing.”
    “You always dress well, Terence, considering your limited means.”
    He fingered the rough cloth. “I suppose I should be grateful he left me my breeches and boots. It’s better than nothing.”
    Celia hid her smile and slung the seed bag over her shoulder. She couldn’t wait to see Tarquin Compton dressed like a yokel. “I’ll leave you to your toilette and await you outside.”
    The first thing she saw was her mother’s rattle. She’d dropped it when she knelt to tend to Mr. Compton. Finding it a second time, quite by chance, boosted her confidence; luck might finally be on her side. Not far from its resting place, against a tussock of grass, she spotted a small book bound in marble paper covers with a leather spine. At the creak of the cottage door, she thrust both rattle and book into the sack. The latter very likely belonged to her companion and might bear his name, or some other clue to his identity.
    At the sight of him she couldn’t contain her grin. “You are quite à la mode,” she said and dropped a mocking curtsey. Yet, much to her annoyance, the man was incapable of wearing anything, even this humble garment, without a certain air. The impeccable fit of his breeches and knee-high boots helped, as did dark hair cut in the short Brutus style that kept its shape under duress. A faint shadow on his chin and jaw lent him a raffish air that only added to his attractiveness. With his piercing dark eyes and aquiline nose he looked less like a farm laborer than a pirate.
    “Will I start a new fashion?” he asked.
    How ironic that if anyone saw him so garbed he most likely would.
    “I’m not sure they’d allow you into Almack’s.”
    “Have I been to Almack’s?” he asked with a frown. “I don’t believe the patronesses welcome humble clergymen.” Why did he have to remember that fact?
    “No,” she said coolly, “but I have.”
    “I thought you were a governess.”
    “Not always. I fell on hard times.”
    “I wish you’d tell me about it. Hearing your story might jog my memory. For that matter, you must tell me everything you know of my history.”
    “Later. We must leave.”
    “Where shall we go?”
    “I don’t know where we are, but if we follow the track we’ll come to a road eventually. I wish to reach the town of Stonewick where we can be sure of a welcome from an old friend of my father’s. When we meet someone we can ask for directions.”
    Mr. Compton surveyed the landscape with a frown. The cottage, though isolated, overlooked a gentle vale. A few hundred yards down the hill, the rough track joined a stream, and accompanied the silver ribbon of water into the horizon. “I don’t like that idea.”
    “Why not?” Celia tried to contain her irritation. She felt quite strongly that she was in charge of the party since her companion was, in his present state, almost an idiot. “Have you a better one?”
    “You said your kidnapper planned to return. I imagine he will come that way. While I am anxious to meet the fellow who abducted you and attacked me, I would rather do so when I am feeling stronger and my head doesn’t ache.”
    The alternative was a steep rise behind the hut, leading who knew where. She looked wistfully at the downhill grassy track and back at the rocky hillside and had to admit he made sense. “He had a pistol,” she acknowledged. “Are you able to walk?”
    “There’s nothing wrong with my legs.”

Chapter 4
     
A gentleman without his valet is like a fish without a phaeton.
     
    W hatever the state of his legs, it appeared his riding boots had not been designed for a tramp over rough terrain. Before they reached the crest of the hill, he had a pain on one heel that echoed the continuing throb in his brain. But he could hardly grumble when his companion was barefoot. She never uttered a complaint as