“La, what vehemence,” she interpolated with a bored shrug. “And it is, after all, of peu d’importance,” From the corner of her eye she saw him stiffen. Concentrating on straightening the cuff of her glove, she added, “Nor did I come here for an apology, sir.”
“I had thought perhaps you came to offer one,” he said quietly.
“I!” Outraged, she frowned at him.
He stepped closer. “The reception I was accorded at the Manor was not what a man might expect when calling on his betrothed. I realize we have been long apart, but we are betrothed—or so I believed.”
How sincere and earnest he managed to appear! She yearned to scratch him, but there were more deadly things than scratches. And so she laughed, soft and liltingly, and had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. “Are we? Lud, I must have forgot! But never think you were quite out of our thoughts. Rumours do manage to drift back to England. Sooner or later.”
She “must have forgot…” Gideon took a steadying breath. “And you began to forget—when, my lady? Five minutes after you left London? Or was it only after you became a Toast? Rumours reach Holland also, you see, and your reputation has provided many a rank joke over slopping tankards in verminous alehouses.”
Quivering with wrath, she half-whispered, “How dare you?”
He gripped her wrist, and jerking her close, said through his teeth, “I dare because I fought the man who said you had been seen leaving Lord Wellby’s house unchaperoned at two in the morning! I knocked down the newspaper writer who named you hoyden for galloping your horse along St. James’ and scattering a herd of cows, causing a fine uproar. Like a fool I believed none of the gossip from Italy, but dreamed only of coming home; of finding you at last, and starting the life we had planned together.” Sadness came into his grey eyes. He added slowly, “I had such hopes … such wonderful plans to share with my little meadow sprite…”
It was the name he had called her when she was a worshipful sixteen and he a magnificent twenty-two. Naomi had to look away.
So intent were they upon their quarrel that they had failed to hear Lieutenant Morris, who came down the main stairs pulling on his gauntlets and humming to himself. He saw them, heard Rossiter’s last few words, and froze, then started to turn about. The stair creaked under his foot. In an agony of embarrassment he checked again, dreading lest he be discovered and judged to have been listening.
Rossiter’s entire attention was on Naomi. Perhaps she was simply overwrought … In years past he had always been able to win her from anger or sadness. He said gently, “My dear, I am very sorry. I know I’ve handled this badly. An you will but listen…”
Although she said nothing, it seemed to him that she swayed to him a little. Releasing her wrist, he tried to see her face, but it was concealed by the brim of her hat. Carefully, he removed the offending article. She raised no objection, and he drew her closer and touched her averted cheek. “I should not have said such things. Forgive me, I beg you. Rumour is such a vicious thing, Naomi. We must not let it come between us and destroy all our dreams.”
She said in a voice that trembled, “It—has been so long, Gideon.”
“Yes, beloved. But a whole glorious future stretches before us. I will try very hard to make you happy always. I swear it.”
Her head was bowed still, but one hand crept up to rest on his cravat. “When I had no word from you, I thought perhaps … you had found—another love.”
“What rubbish! You are the only lady I ever have, or ever will love. I thought you knew that!”
Burying her face against his chest she said a muffled, “Then you always meant to—to come back to me?”
“Be assured of it! These six years I have counted the moments ’til I can call you Mrs. Gideon Rossiter.” It was going to be all right, after all! Blissfully enveloped in a glow of happiness, he pressed his cheek against her fragrant hair. “My Naomi,” he murmured. “Did you but know how I have longed to hold you like this! How very much I worship—”
And he stopped, because she was laughing.
Lifting her head she revealed a merry countenance. “Oh,” she gasped. “How very well you do it, Captain! My apologies. I should not laugh, I know. But did you think word of your liaison with your little Dutch—er, lady would not reach our ears?”
Stunned, he corrected, “Belgian. I fancy I deserved that. But—”
“Lud, dear sir, you must not fancy I mean to chastise you. Ladies only pretend to be blind to these little affaires, you know. And one cannot expect gentlemen—especially military gentlemen—to be saints. Though,” she waved her whip under his nose reprovingly, “it was rather naughty in you to abandon the poor lady with—’tis a little girl … no?”
His hands clenched. He said tautly, “No. A boy and two girls. A set of twins this year, you see.”
For a moment her eyes were very wide, but she made a fast recover, and, pouting, said rather breathlessly, “Out upon you, sirrah! You spoil Papa’s scenario. He wagered you would have a thousand excuses, and swear to me that the talk was all lies, and you loved only me.” Again, her rippling laugh rang out. She turned away, and said, “You will think me a perfect quiz, but I told him that since you had not come nor sent any word, you must surely have been wounded.” From under the dark screen of her lashes, she watched him intently. “I even sent a friend to enquire of Sir Mark if your Commanding Officer had been in touch with him.”
Rossiter took a slow breath. His pride again! His damnable pride that had rushed him into the army in the first place, then forbidden that his father be notified of the likelihood of his death!
He said, “No doubt the earl told you what the answer would be; that my father had heard nothing.”
“Oh, yes, and he thought me such a great silly, and said I must be prepared lest you should claim you had been brought down, and use it as an excuse for having stayed with your chère—or is it chères? amies.”
Rossiter looked at her innocent face steadily, and she trilled, “La, la! But I have angered the gentleman once more! Did I perchance spoil some carefully planned little speech? I shall make amends.” She dimpled, and fluttered her eyelashes at him, then said with exaggerated naivete, “You are so much changed, Captain Rossiter. Did army life not agree with you?”
Gideon flushed, and his nails dug into the palms of his hands. How contemptuous she was; how willing to believe the worst of him. His Achilles heel mastered him yet again, and all prideful hauteur he drawled, “’Tis a life of many facets, ma’am. But, alas, I have no palliative speeches for you.”
“Palliative,” she echoed musingly, patting her firm little chin with her riding crop. “Such a big word, and I but a simple girl. Could it perchance mean … begging forgiveness?” On the last word her lovely eyes, hard and scornful now, met his squarely.
He suggested, “Perhaps you should discover the meaning from your papa, ma’am, since you rely so heavily on his wisdom.”
She nodded. “In truth, he is exceeding shrewd, my dear Papa. You will scarce believe, but only last month he predicted that due to recent—er, events, you would now come racing home. That you would assure me your sudden return had nothing, but nothing to do with the fact that your father has been so silly as to ruin himself, so that ’tis vital you secure a rich wife!”
At this, a gasp escaped him. For an instant the hurt was so intense as to be a physical pain. Then, something inside him seemed to turn to ice.
With infinite care, Morris had been tiptoeing back up the stairs. At this point, having reached the landing, he gave a muffled groan of relief, and crept from earshot, still unobserved by the two people in the hall.
Naomi’s eyes were glittering—with malice, no doubt, thought Rossiter. Yet even now she was so heart-rendingly beautiful. And so very far removed from her counterpart in Tranquillity Terrace. Determined not to let her see how deeply she had wounded him, he managed somehow to say coldly, “You are vulgar. But then, as you said—no respectable single lady would call at the
home of a bachelor.”
She started a furious rejoinder, then closed her lips and walked a few paces away. With a little giggle, she spun around and said brightly, “Touché. And I must not forget the reason for my call. It is that I have lost quite a valuable antique chess piece. ’Twas accidentally broken, and my father had sent it away to be repaired. I collected it from the jeweller in Stour Street yesterday.”
“Indeed? And the highwaymen stole it from you, ma’am?”
“No. They got nothing. Only, it is gone from my reticule, and—”
Rossiter’s head tossed an inch higher. “But of course. You thought I had stolen it.” His eyes narrowed with rage. “A logical assumption when dealing with so dastardly a villain.”
“No, no. We do not believe you would stoop to—small knaveries, Captain Rossiter.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw, and for an instant his stare became a blazing glare that frightened her. Then he bowed mockingly, and she went on, “I merely hoped you might have seen it. My father’s men found the wrappings near the spot where your friend shot Mr. Falcon.”
“So that is why James shot him.” His smile contemptuous, he drawled, “I’d no idea he was so ardent a player as to kill for a chess piece. Though most men—”
Angered by his sarcasm, she flared, “Most men are despicable!”
He bowed again. “Before—or after they suffer a reversal of fortunes, madam?”
Naomi’s riding whip swung up but her wrist was caught in a grip of iron.
“Temper, temper,” chided Rossiter. “With all his vaunted shrewdness, ’tis remarkable that your papa has failed to teach you that a lady of Quality should not behave like a guttersnipe.”
She was shaking with anger, but when she wrenched free, he was not treated to the blistering denunciation he anticipated. Instead, she demanded loftily, “Am I to understand you did not see the piece? It is quite small, and fashioned of pink jade and rubies.”
“But—dear lady, surely you must apprehend there is no point in asking me. An I had seen it, I certainly would never tell the truth of the matter. And since one is judged by the company one keeps, you will appreciate that to question my friend would be as pointless.”
He strode past her, swung the front door wide, and proffered her hat. “Speaking as an accomplished cheat, lecher, and—liar, I have no hesitation in saying—to have met you again, my lady, has been … a pleasure.”
She should be able to find an answer to that barb, surely? But there was something about the haggard face and sardonic smile that made her feel cheapened and oddly disturbed. Words eluded her, and taking up the train of her habit, she snatched her hat, and swept past him regally, but in silence.
Hearing the door close, Lieutenant Morris paced to the stairs and started down once more, only to hesitate yet again. Rossiter stood facing the door, his head bowed against it. He had heard Morris’ steps and turned quickly. The lieutenant caught a glimpse of a despair that appalled him. Then, a flush stained the gaunt cheeks, and Rossiter asked quietly, “How long have you been there, Jamie?”
“Longer than I liked, blister it! Stumbled on your—ah, conversation before I realized you were there, and then your blasted creaking stairs trapped me. Took me the deuce of a time to escape. Damned embarrassing, I don’t mind telling you.”
Rossiter sighed as if he was very weary. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
There was sympathy in the freckled face. Rossiter shrank from it. “Thank you. But—’tis as well to know where I stand, I suppose.”
“Do you?” Morris came down the rest of the stairs. “Not my bread and butter, of course, but—Bless it, Gideon! Why in Hades didn’t you tell the poor girl the truth? If her ladyship knew you’d come damned near to cocking up your toes this past year and more—”
Crossing the hall to join him, Rossiter said bleakly, “Do you really fancy I would work on a woman’s sympathy to win her? Even did I still wish to do so? Thank you—no!”
They started to walk towards the kitchen hall, and Morris said, “Of all the high-in-the-instep—”
Rossiter cut him off impatiently. “I cannot be too surprised, Jamie. She was little more than a child when we plighted our troth. She likely found quite soon that she had mistaken her heart. Certainly, I mistook mine, and I am free now to do what I may to help my family. You will be eager to get on your way, no? Never worry about our belongings. As soon as I reach Town I’ll send one of my father’s people down to the Red Pheasant to collect ’em.”
Morris checked his stride, and said sternly, “You are indulging your perishing pride again, and I tell you, Ross, that pride is worth—”
“Very little, I know,” interrupted Rossiter coolly. “Whereas time is of the essence, and the sooner we’re away the better.”
Their departure was not as prompt as he had hoped, but at last Tummet, the richer by two guineas, had wished his captors a blithe farewell, the horses were saddled, and the two men rode from the stableyard and started across the wide expanse of the park. With a great effort of will Rossiter did not once look back at his birthplace. Morris could all too well imagine his state of mind, however, and remained discreetly silent.
They were passing through the lodge gates before Rossiter said, “May I ask when you learned of my father’s trouble?”
“My mama writ to me. I collect there was quite a—I mean, it caused somewhat of a stir.”
Rossiter asked expressionlessly, “Did everybody else know? At the hospital, I mean.”
“Really couldn’t say, old lad.”
Rossiter turned his head and looked at him levelly, and Morris added a hurried, “My mama writes dashed enormous letters. Shouldn’t think any other fella’s parent would scribble so much. Always crossed and both sides of the page covered. Makes it hard as the deuce to decipher.”
“I scarce remember my mother,” said Rossiter absently. “She died when Gwendolyn was born…” His mind felt bruised, but he wrenched it from a cruel and lovely face to deal with the here and now. “So your mama told you that my father’s bank had failed, and that there were charges of”—he had to force himself to utter that awful word—“of embezzlement?”
“No, no, dear boy! Merely that ’twas a—er, nasty sort of business and there was bad feeling ’gainst your papa. Because so many were ruined, y’see. Never used the term ‘embezzlement.’” He grinned. “Probably couldn’t spell it.” Then, realizing he had blundered again, his comely face reddened.
“Falcon used the term.”
“Falcon! Who pays heed to anything that frizzle brain says? He’s so curst hot at hand I’m surprised he didn’t catch fire, only because I made a little mistake.”
Rossiter managed a fairly creditable laugh. “I hope you never make a large one!”
When they turned onto the Maidstone Road they at once began to encounter traffic. Guiding his mount past a lumbering hay wain, Rossiter was caught up in the sounds and sights and smells of the Down country. England was so beautiful, and for a while he’d thought he might never see her again. He could not but experience a surge of gratitude that he was safely back in his own land, and although still mentally reeling from the hammer blows Fate had dealt him, he began instinctively to try and pull the pieces back together again. The great estate where so much of his youth had been spent was gone, and if his father’s disaster had been as extensive as Tummet said, they were likely pockets to let. As for Naomi … He realized that Morris was chattering on about something. It had been blasted good of the man to come, in view of what he’d heard of the Rossiter family. He said, “My apologies, Jamie. I fear my mind was woolgathering.”
“Better than gathering nuts in May—what?”
Rossiter grinned. “That was a jolly good ploy. Your capering saved the day.”
“And my fine baritone, do not forget.”
“Truly, you were superb. And Tummet turned out to be a good fellow after all. I hope he’ll not find himself in a bobbery over this.”
“Tummet does?”
“Eh? Oh, he’ll land on his feet, never fear. Finagle his way out of anything, that fellow. Booberkin!” This last was directed with great indignation at a carter whose wheels had come uncomfortably close. “No, I was thinking ’twas probably a Saturday. More likely, don’t you agree?”
“More likely for what?”
“Good Gad, man! Where are your wits? It wouldn’t be proper to go gathering nuts on a Sunday. I’d think you’d have realized that!”
“Gudgeon,” said Rossiter laughing at him. “Are you still puzzling over that old nursery song?”
“I like to keep things tidy,” said Morris primly. “Speaking of which”—he waited while Rossiter’s mount took violent exception to a flock of geese, then finished—“Falcon has a neatish country seat, I hear.”
Resettling his tricorne, Rossiter panted, “Ashleigh. Does it occur to you, Jamie, that the roads have become a deal worse since we left England?”
“Most decidedly. In—ah, Middlesex, ain’t it?”
“What? Oh—Ashleigh. No, Sussex.” Rossiter glanced at him. “Why?”
“Why would you think, my lad?” Morris winked mischievously. “Falcon may be a cod’s head, but his sister—horse of a different colour entirely.”
“You not only mix your metaphors, my good fool, but you are properly addlebrained. Falcon warns off every man who dares come near the lady, even the more eligible bachelors. And you committed what you refer to as a ‘little mistake,’ but what he doubtless considers an excuse for bloody murder! He’s an extreme dangerous man with all the instincts of a scorpion. Stay clear, and enjoy a good long life.”
Morris sighed. “But—she is so very glorious, do you see?”
“The lovelier they are,” said Rossiter bitterly, “the more spoiled and flighty.”
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