Beyond Compare

by Candace Camp

  And there, milling around, were a number of riders and horses. Rafe reined in the stallion and rode at a more sedate pace through the group to the front, where a straining, yapping brace of hounds was being held in check by the keepers. In front of them stood a portly man with wide, muttonchop whiskers who was dressed in the coat of the master of the hunt. He was almost as red in the face as his coat, and he flailed his arms around wildly as he shouted at the two boys before him.

  Rafe saw immediately that these must be the twins in question. Slender as reeds and rather taller than most ten-year-old boys, they were black-haired and blue-eyed and as alike as two peas in a pod. They stood facing the large man, shoulders squared and arms at their sides. Behind them, cowering under a bush, was a small red fox.

  Rafe had barely pulled his horse to a stop before Kyria was off and running toward her brothers. Rafe tethered his horse to the nearest bush and followed her.

  “Squire Winton!” Kyria ran between the portly man and her brothers. “I am so sorry. I do apologize for them.” She turned and glared at her brothers. “What do you think you are doing?”

  The two boys crossed their arms almost in unison and stared back at her mulishly. “It is cruel and wrong, Kyria,” one of them told her bluntly. “You said so yourself, and so did Mother.”

  “Yes, I know,” Kyria said. “But you haven’t any right to interfere with the squire’s hunt.”

  “Well, what right do they have to slaughter some poor defenseless animal?” the other boy countered.

  The squire let out a bellow at these words and shook his riding crop at them. “You young imps of Satan! Someone should take you over his knee!”

  Kyria whipped back around and looked at the squire coolly. “May I remind you, sir, that the twins’ discipline is entirely a matter for their mother and father and nothing to do with you.”

  “They are incorrigible!”

  Kyria’s eyes flashed. “They are not incorrigible! They are simply boys with good hearts who love animals and dislike seeing them killed purely for sport.”

  “You see?” The squire shook his forefinger at her. “That attitude is precisely why they are the way they are. You people encourage them to run wild and—”

  Kyria set her fists on her hips pugnaciously. “We encourage them to think for themselves.”

  “They ought to be taken in hand!” The squire’s eyes bulged, his face turning an alarming shade of red, and he took a step toward the twins.

  Kyria took a quick step sideways, again interposing herself between the squire and her brothers. The squire remained in the same position, the crop raised menacingly, his face contorted with rage.

  Rafe moved quickly between the squire and Kyria, sliding his hand beneath his coat as he said, “Now, hold on a minute here.”

  “Who the devil are you?” the squire demanded.

  “Well,” Rafe answered, pulling a short-barreled pistol out from beneath his jacket, “I’m the man with the gun.”

  All the others looked at him in amazement as Rafe continued, “I suggest you back away from the lady and these children and calm down a little. How does that sound?”

  “What?” Squire Winton stared goggle-eyed at the pistol, then back at Rafe. “But…but…”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Rafe went on agreeably. “You’re thinking this isn’t much of a gun for a man to carry, and you’d be right. It’s a sissy sort of thing. But I found the people in this country looked at me askance, you see, when I was out in the street with a Colt strapped to my side. So I figured this would be better, less alarming, you know, and I can just carry it in a pocket inside my coat. It doesn’t even disturb the line.”

  “Criminy!” he heard one of the boys breathe behind him, and the squire took a quick step backward.

  “Mr. McIntyre…” Kyria began uncertainly.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t have plans to shoot anybody,” Rafe assured her cheerfully. “Not yet, anyway. But I think we can have a calmer discussion of the facts now. Isn’t that right, Mr. Winton?”

  The squire nodded, casting another uneasy glance at Rafe’s gun. Rafe stuck it back into his pocket and stepped aside, then leaned toward Kyria and murmured, “You might remember you were wanting to stop a big fight…”

  Kyria grimaced at him, but then turned to the squire and said in a much more pleasant tone of voice, “Squire, please, accept my apologies for the boys. They will come home with me right now, and I will do my best to ensure that nothing like this happens again.”

  “But, Kyria…” one of the boys protested.

  Kyria silenced him with one sharp glance and spoke again to the squire. “I wouldn’t want any unpleasantness to spoil the friendship that our families have enjoyed for so long. The duke and duchess have always expressed gratitude for having such a good neighbor as you.”

  “But they stopped the hunt!” the squire exclaimed, unable to let go of his grievance.

  “Yes, I know, and they acted quite unbecomingly in doing so,” Kyria agreed soothingly. “I assure you that I will take the matter up with my mother and father.”

  “But what about the hunt?” The squire’s voice was taking on something of a wail.

  “Now, wait.” Rafe spoke up again. “Sorry, I’m an American, so maybe I’m a little confused here. Let me get this straight. You’re saying that all you folks are out here, with the dogs and everything, trying to chase down that one little fox?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s a hunt.” Winton looked disdainfully at him.

  “Oh, I see.” Rafe nodded thoughtfully. “I was just…well, back home a fella usually just goes after a varmint like that himself, you know. He doesn’t need a whole bunch of folks helping him.”

  The squire bridled a little at his words. “Well, of course, I don’t need help. It’s, well, that’s the way it’s done.”

  “Oh. Well, sure.” Rafe glanced around. “Thing is…I think the other side got tired of waiting.”

  He turned and looked significantly at the bush in front of which the twins stood. The boys turned to look, too, then stepped aside, grinning. The small red fox that had been hiding beneath the bush was gone.

  “Bloody hell!” the squire exclaimed. He glared at Kyria. “Your father will hear from me.”

  “I am sure he will be happy to discuss the matter with you.”

  He shook his riding crop toward the twins one last time, saying, “They should have leashes on them!” He turned and stomped off back to his horse.

  Kyria sighed, watching her neighbor stalk away. Rafe cast her a glance, one eyebrow raised.

  “So,” he said slowly, “tell me, is this what you’d call a typical day around here?”

  Kyria had to chuckle. “Unfortunately, it is more often than not.”

  She swung around to face the twins, who hurried up to her and Rafe, agog with interest.

  “What a cunning gun!” Alex exclaimed. “May I look at it? Please?”

  Rafe held it out in the palm of his hand. “Yes, but you can’t touch it. It’s loaded. When we get back to the house, I’ll unload and clean it and let you look at it.”

  “Will you?” Alex grinned. “That would be ever so good of you.”

  “It’s so small!” Con said, peering at it. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It’s called a derringer. The aim’s no good. You can only use it close up, but it’s handy to carry.”

  “I must say,” Kyria interrupted crossly, “you two boys certainly have a ghoulish interest in guns for people who are so concerned about the squire hunting that miserable fox.”

  “It’s not the same thing!” Con protested. “They are only killing that poor fox for sport. Theo says that a gun is a necessity.”

  “No doubt it is when you are in the wilds of Australia, as Theo was,” Kyria said. “That’s not the point, anyway. The point is—why did you have to do this? This week of all times?”

  Con shrugged, but Alex replied seriously, “Actually, it seemed to me
that this week would have the most impact. After all, it is the biggest and most important hunt the squire is likely to have, what with our guests being here, too.”

  “That is exactly what I mean. You embarrassed the man in front of some of the very people he would most like to impress. Now it will be doubly hard to placate him. And I imagine our guests were none too pleased about it, either.”

  “Mother says you cannot waver on what you think is right just because it isn’t a popular opinion,” Alex put in pedantically.

  Kyria let out a low groan. “I’m sure she did. But she isn’t the one trying to keep a large number of guests happy and bring Olivia’s wedding off.” She glanced around. “Now, where are your ponies? We’re going home, and you can explain to Aunt Hermione why your parrot escaped from its cage—”

  “No!” the boys cried out in unison, alarmed.

  “Is Wellie all right?” Alex asked in concern.

  “Yes, of course he’s all right. Nothing could harm that wretched creature,” Kyria said dryly. “But he flew all over the house and created an enormous flap, and then he snatched the wig off your great-aunt’s head and shredded it.”

  The boys gaped at her.

  “Did he really?” Con asked in an awestruck voice, and Alex giggled.

  “Oh, yes, very funny, I’m sure,” Kyria told him, adding, “I doubt it will be quite as amusing when you have to face our great-aunt.”

  “No,” Alex agreed. “But at least she just gives one a tongue-lashing and a few smacks with that cane, and I’d rather have that than a lecture from Papa. He looks at me in that way, and I know I’ve disappointed him.”

  Rafe glanced at Kyria, a half smile playing on his lips, and Kyria could not help but remember the moment when she had fallen into his arms and felt them wrap like iron around her. His body had been hard against hers, his heat surrounding her. She could remember, too, the way her own body had tingled in response. Thinking of the moment, she colored and turned her face away, unable to meet Rafe’s gaze.

  As the twins turned to Rafe, babbling their thanks, he held up a hand, saying, “Well, it was your sister here who risked life and limb to try to capture him, not to mention standing up for you with that tutor and the squire. So I reckon she’s the one you ought to be thanking.”

  “We do!” Con assured him, and caught Kyria in a hug.

  “You are the absolute best!” Alex agreed, wrapping his arms around her from the other side.

  Kyria chuckled, planting a kiss on the head of each of her brothers. “Well, I’m glad you realize that,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean I am going to plead your case with Mother. You two are on your own there.”

  “But she’s the one who told us we have to stand up for what we believe in,” Con declared. “She can’t get too mad, can she?”

  “I don’t think she intended for you to stand up for your beliefs by sneaking away from your studies and lying in wait for the squire. Nor will she like that your tutor quit.”

  “Old Thorny?” Alex exclaimed. “You’re joking! He scarpered?”

  Con jumped up in the air, letting out a cry of joy. “Thank heavens! He was the worst tutor we ever had.”

  “No,” Alex disagreed. “Spindleshanks was the worst.”

  “He was the meanest,” Con conceded. “But he wasn’t as boring as Old Thorny. All Mr. Thorndike has us do is copy Latin grammars and such, and it’s deadly dull.”

  “That may be, but you two run through teachers faster than I do hairpins,” Kyria pointed out, but she could not help but smile down at her two scapegrace brothers.

  She was inordinately fond of them and resented any disparaging remarks anyone made about them. There were times when their tendency to get into trouble was exasperating, but she knew that whatever fuss was kicked up, Con and Alex had never gone into it with bad intentions. They were simply lively and intelligent boys whose curiosity and intrepidity sometimes led them onto paths that other children would not have taken. In Kyria’s opinion, that fact indicated something lacking in the other children, not in Con and Alex.

  They had reached the trees where the boys had tied their ponies, and after some discussion, they wound up with Kyria riding Alex’s pony and the two boys doubling up on Con’s—though both of them expressed preference for riding on Rafe’s stallion. Rafe cupped his hands to give Kyria a leg up onto the pony’s back. Then he mounted, and they started off.

  Kyria glanced over at Rafe. She remembered the way it had felt riding with him on his horse, and a little shiver ran through her. She could not help but feel a tiny pang of regret that she was not riding back the same way, and the thought shocked her a little.

  She was not the sort of woman to swoon over a man. She had never joined her friends in giggling and whispering about this man’s broad shoulders or that one’s fine eyes. There were men she acknowledged as being very handsome and others who were charming or intelligent—though rarely did she find all three. But though she might be aware of their good looks, they roused little excitement in her breast. She had realized long ago that she was simply not the sort of woman to be swept away by any man.

  Her friends had long told her that she was entirely too prone to thinking and not enough to feeling, and the epithet given her by the eligible bachelors of London society—The Goddess—reflected not only her classic beauty but also her faintly aloof air. That she had gone for years without falling in love with any of the eligible men who sought her hand had cost her an ache or two. She would have liked to know the sort of love her parents obviously enjoyed. But, she reminded herself, it was just as well. Aside from a few notable exceptions, husbands were, in her estimation, dictatorial and overprotective, and marriage was a very unequal proposition. In her opinion a woman gave up her freedom, as well as her name, when she married. She had long ago resolved never to marry, and the years she had spent in society since her coming out had only confirmed that decision.

  She cast another glance at Rafe, who was ambling alongside their ponies, his head bent to listen to the twins’ chatter. He was, she thought with some irritation, precisely the sort of man over whom most women swooned. Kyria had little doubt that when she introduced him to the other guests at their house, all the women would be jockeying to talk to him. The carelessly tousled hair…the broad shoulders…the sky-blue eyes…the devastating smile…Kyria could well imagine how the ladies would be all atwitter about him.

  He was a charmer, the sort of man who was interested in conquest. He would smile and flatter and woo one, hoping to add another lady to his collection. Kyria had been out for nine years now, and she was well acquainted with his type. She was also quite practiced at eluding such a man’s advances. She set her mouth firmly. Mr. McIntyre would soon find out that she was one woman who would not fall into his clutches—well, figuratively speaking, she reminded herself, her lips twitching as her irrepressible humor rose, reminding her that literally speaking, that was precisely what she had already done.

  The journey back to the house was slower than the ride out had been, and as they rode, the twins chattered away, demanding a recounting in detail of their parrot’s flight, pondering the possible punishments that would be meted out to them for their escapade and pausing to pepper Rafe with questions about his horse, his gun, his accent and whatever else came to their agile minds.

  Kyria would have stepped in to hush their questioning, but she quickly saw that Rafe was more than able to hold his own with the twins, answering some of their questions, deflecting others and turning the tables on them with questions of his own.

  She was a little surprised, for she had found over the years as one of the reigning beauties of London society that most of her suitors were apt to wilt under an interrogation from the twins. Despite her father’s high rank, hers was not a family given to formalities. Unlike other families of the nobility, where children were sequestered in a nursery and rarely ate with the family, interacting with their parents only at prescribed hours, in the Moreland household, the youn
ger siblings were apt to be in and out of their elders’ company at all hours during the day and usually took their meals with them, unless the duke and duchess were having one of their rare formal dinners.

  Visitors to their home often found the twins’ presence disconcerting, and one future earl who had been assiduously courting Kyria even went so far as to tell Kyria that he found the boys impertinent and could only wonder at the laxity with which they were raised. Kyria had responded by suggesting that he would be happier, then, if he no longer called on her.

  But Mr. McIntyre seemed to have no such qualms in dealing with the boys. He talked and laughed with them in his slow, slurry way. He looked, she thought, to be accustomed to boys.

  When she said as much a few minutes later, he turned that slow smile on her and said, “Oh, I’m afraid you’ll find that I don’t have much trouble talking to just about anybody. Whether that’s a good trait or one that will drive you crazy just depends on you.” He glanced over at Con and Alex and added, “I guess I wasn’t much different from them—I had a tendency to get in trouble myself at that age.”

  “And has that changed?” Kyria asked, a little surprised at the teasing note in her voice. If she wasn’t careful, she thought, the man would assume she was flirting with him—which she absolutely was not.

  Rafe’s smile broadened and he winked at her. “Well, now, I reckon a lot of people would say that I still manage to get in some trouble.”

  There was something about his voice, slow and rich like warm, golden honey, that stirred something inside her. She glanced away quickly, and it was a relief when Alex distracted Rafe’s attention by asking another question.

  When they got back to the great, solemn pile of gray stone that was Broughton Park, they were told by the footman who opened the door that the Moreland family was waiting for them in the formal drawing room. Alex and Con slipped off to run up the back stairs to the nursery, murmuring in suddenly quiet voices that they had best see if their parrot had survived his adventure unharmed.