Harry ate little and tried not to notice the admiration with which Mitchell watched Nanette, nor how expertly the girl used every possible trick to ensnare him. The studious Mitchell's acquaintance with ladies had been slight. He was comparatively new to the art of the shy, upward glance, the soft voice, the demure sweep of downcast lashes, the innocent, parted-lip smiles. But Harry was not, and as the meal wore on, became so infuriated it was all he could do not to seize Nanette's hand and drag her aside to where he could properly spank her. He had thought he was concealing his rage until he tore his eyes from her animated face and found Mitchell watching him with a trace of anxiety. Shocked to realize that this brother he had only a few hours since mourned as dead he now devoutly wished at Jericho, he forced a grin. Relief came into Mitchell's eyes, and he turned eagerly back to Nanette.
My lady was boring on about the friendship between her Dear Papa and the Stirling-Armstrongs. Sir Harry was, of course, acquainted with that noble family? He replied politely, appearing to hang on her every word but with his thoughts elsewhere. What right had he to resent Mitchell's attentions to his shrew? In point of fact, he deserved it, for he had done everything wrong from the start. Having shamefully ignored her while he mooned and yearned for the beautiful rattlepate beside him, he'd been so idiotic as to tell Mitch he had fallen in love with Nerina. He'd been interrupted before he could complete his remark, but Mitchell could not be expected to know that, and naturally imagined himself with a clear field. If only the cub wasn't so blasted handsome! He thought defensively that he had helped in the matter of the bull, but on the heels of that hopeful recollection came the memory of his clumsy proposal, and he all but groaned with mortification. To think that, in his blind arrogance, he had dared offer her a marriage of convenience! Well, he would offer again! And his brother had better stay clear! He needn't think—
A hand slipped onto his shoulder. Mitchell bent over him solicitously. "Arm troubling you, Sauvage . . ?"
Harry looked into those concerned eyes and felt wretched. "A shade tired," he mumbled. "Nothing to fret about, but—" And he stared, astounded, at the smugglers, who were scrambling madly away from the fire and into the trees. In a flash the clearing was bare of Frenchmen, and Harry was on his feet and rasping, "Quick! Get the girls out of this!"
Mitchell stammered a bewildered, "What . . ? Why the—"
"Now!"
Nanette was already standing, eyes big with fear, and Harry fairly dragged Nerina to her feet. Ignoring her outraged squeals, he propelled her into the trees, then whipped her behind him as two dark shapes blocked their way. Her shriek rang in his ears, and Mr. Fox let out a shattering bray that set all the other animals snorting and whinnying with fright.
"Who are you?" Harry demanded, and as Mitchell sprang to his side, a dagger gleaming in his hand, added, "And what do you want?"
"It'd serve you right," drawled a familiar voce, "if I was a Exciseman! I counted twenty kegs, Harry! Downright illegal!"
"Diccon!" Weak with relief, Harry placed a restraining hand on his brother's arm. "It's all right, Mitch."
Nanette ran to welcome the Trader, and the second newcomer proving to be Daniel, they all proceeded to the warmth of the fire where the necessary introductions were performed. Diccon complimented Nanette on her 'fine feathers' but said to Harry in a low voice, "A fine bumble-broth you've made of it! Letting Miss Nanette get herself all pretty and sweet so anyone chancing to ride by might recognize her!"
This aspect of the situation had slipped Harry's mind, and he said uneasily, "This ain't exactly St. James's, you know."
"And putting both the ladies in with a scurvy crew of free traders!" Diccon went on remorselessly. "What it's the duty of a law-abiding man to hand over to the Watch!"
The French contingent was slinking back into view, and it dawned upon Harry that if Diccon should prove a staunch supporter of law and order, they might be in a very sticky situation. There was a reward for informing against smugglers, and it would be logical enough for the man to be tempted.
"You are very right," Nerina proclaimed righteously. "They are smugglers!"
"That they is, ma'am," nodded Diccon, casting a scornful glance at the motley crew. "And a more clumsy, bungling lot I never hope to see!"
"At the least," frowned Yves, folding his arms, "we were where we were supposed to be!"
"Then why the devil didn't you stay there 'til I could come up with ye?" demanded Diccon. "Why didn't you lie low like I've allus told ye, and—"
"Because this one," said Yves, indicating the flabbergasted Mitchell, "have spoil Gaston so we cannot bring him to show us the way. And he have say he know Sussex, so when you do not come he say he will take us to the Inn of the Black Garter. Instead of the which, he meet a pedlar, and buy a book from him, and ride along reading it, so that we get most into the pickles until we find Mr. Fox and think you must not be far away, so have at the last arrive here!"
Nanette gave a gurgle of laughter. Harry grinned, "Devil take you, Diccon! You nigh scared the wits out of me!"
Eyes alight, Mitchell said, "Fine company you keep, revered gaffer!"
"But," Nerina puzzled uneasily, "Sir Harry said you was a Trader…"
Harry shot his brother a warning glance, but Mitchell was already chuckling, "So he is, my lady. A Free Trader!"
Nerina gave a small scream, and admitting the justification for her dismay, Harry said, "The ladies must be escorted to East Bourne at once. Can you guide them, Diccon?"
"No. Sorry I am to say it, but I got to get my clumsy lot here to "The Black Garter.' " His keen eyes fastened upon Harry's rather drawn face. "Don't look like you're up to a long ride, neither. What happened?"
Harry's attempt to make light of the incident was drowned by Nanette's swift and glowing account of his heroism, which was in turn cut off by Nerina's wailing plea to be conveyed home. Mitchell, who had remained silent, his thoughtful gaze on Nanette, offered to escort the ladies, whereupon Nanette promptly reiterated her determination to go on to Devonshire.
"Obliging of ye, Mr. Redmond." Diccon's gaze flickered over him doubtfully. "But—you'd best let Daniel take ye, ma'am."
"Oh, but—no. Thank you," said my lady swiftly. "We shall be quite safe with Mr. Redmond, I'm sure."
"Doubt it," Diccon argued. "The roads is fair swarming with men hunting fer the poor stole heiress, and—"
"Heiress?" said Harry. "I thought it was a child who was stolen."
"Someone's child, I s'pose," Diccon shrugged. "One o' the wealthiest women in all Europe, they say. Stole from the boozum o' her family, what's offering five hundred pound fer news o' the poor creature."
Harry and his brother exchanged interested glances. Nanette breathed an awed, "Five… hundred… pounds . . ?"
"Aye," confirmed Diccon. "And if we don't get Lady Tawnish back to her relations, we'll have the hue and cry up fer her, like as not!"
Nerina was wholly in agreement with this, but when Nanette firmly refused to accompany her, she uttered a wail of distress and implored Harry to "make her see reason!"
Nanette turned a frightened gaze on him. "You will not force me to go with her, my tyrant?"
"No one," he answered, in a tone that brought Mitchell's eyes flashing to his face, "shall force you to do what you do not wish to do, little one. Mitch, do you know the way?"
"Daniel knows," said Diccon stubbornly. Mitchell's frown was not lost upon him and he sighed, "He's a fine fighting man, Mr. Redmond."
"I am well aware of that fact." Mitchell's head was high. "And normally my brother is also. He's a trifle down pin just now, however, and I think Dan should remain here."
"Doubt there's much we could teach Sir Harry when it come to fighting," grinned Diccon.
Nerina wrung her hands and, outrivalling Diccon for tactlessness, blurted, "Tinkers, dearest! And—soldiers! And gypsies! To say nought of smugglers!"
Diccon and Daniel glanced at one another in covert amusement. Harry, however, frowned worriedly; an
d echoing his brother's troubled thoughts, Mitchell urged, "Lady Nerina is perfectly right, you know, ma'am. Should your flight become common knowledge, you would be completely ostracized."
"And—never," said Nerina in the voice of Doom, "receive another offer for as long as you live."
Nanette watched the play of emotion over Harry's pale face, summoned a smile, and contradicted, "I doubt that, dear. In point of fact, I received another offer this morning."
The Beauty stared, then looked to Harry. Mitchell, having given a slight start at Nanette's words, also turned to his brother with an incredulity that was shattered when Nerina said, "Oh, but I meant a respectable offer!"
For once even Nanette was rendered speechless, but Harry, the ready laughter leaping into his eyes, assured my lady that his offer had been refused. Seeing Mitchell about to explode with mirth, he added, "However, I'm promised to see her safe to Devon, and Devon it shall be!"
Lady Nerina dissolved into tears, and when Yves offered her his hack, flatly refused to travel alone with a gypsy. Very soon, therefore, she wept over Nanette, tearfully implored Harry to protect her and, apparently made even more despondent by reason of his quiet, "With my life, ma'am," sobbed her way out of the clearing with Mitchell on one side of her and Daniel on the other.
Chapter XII
Nanette had taken Harry's jacket to her tent to clean and patch the sleeve; the smugglers quarrelled contentedly while loading up their animals; and beside the fire Diccon and Harry sat talking together. Not once did the Trader's remarks imply a mistrust, yet there was that in his manner which kindled a spark in Harry's green eyes; and at length, his piercing glare fixed upon Diccon's face, he demanded, "Why do you sigh each time you look at your tent?"
Diccon regarded him steadily. "Why, things has changed a bit, I think. When I left, Miss Nanette hated men. Or said she did. And you was halfway in love with the other lady and not no way in love with Miss Nanette. Or didn't think you was. Now…" And he sighed once more.
"Now . . ?" echoed Harry. Both eyes and tone held a warning, and Diccon said softly, "Why, I do know as how you'm a gentleman. But she's been put in my charge, don't you see? And—what with you being—fond of her…"
"Well, I am not," said Harry, just as softly. "I love her."
"Aye. I thought that was the way of it. Still, you did once tell me that you— er—fall in and out of love. Rapid-like."
Harry's eyes became deadly slits; then he flushed and looked down. "That was because I was a prime idiot, for—to own the truth, I—I've never really been in love before."
"But—excuse me fer asking—how does ye know as ye is now?"
Harry's gaze drifted to the tent and he murmured dreamily, "Once you are, there can be no doubts. It is so—different. So—well, it's sort of… holy." He knew he was reddening but, turning back to the grave man beside him, said levelly, "I pledge you my word of honour, Diccon. The lady will be as safe with me as though she were my sister."
For a long moment the anxious blue eyes held to the steady green ones. Then Diccon stood. "Reckon my poor rattlebrained Frogs is ready. How they ever got this far is beyond me! I never let 'em come more'n a mile or two inland but what I meet 'em with me own train." He put out his hand. "I'll be back afore dawn, but if for some reason I don't come, you get on your way. And keep to the byroads, whatever you do!"
Harry had also come to his feet, and their handshake was firm. Diccon grunted, "You'd best get some sleep. You don't look up to snuff at all, and—"
"Wait up a minute!" In belated recollection, Harry crossed to the tent and called to Nanette. She came out in a few seconds and smilingly handed him the small box. He returned to proffer it to Diccon. "Please take it, though it is a very poor thanks for all you have done."
Diccon opened the outer wrapping, and the snuffbox was carefully removed. For a moment he stared at in silence. Then, slanting a wondering glance at Harry, he said, "A… bloodhound…" He appeared quite overcome and, without a word, crossed to mount up and soon rode off at the head of the long line of ponies.
Nanette joined Harry in exchanging farewells with Yves and the rest of the Frenchmen, but not once did Diccon respond, or look back. Until he was out of sight his head was bowed as he gazed down at the small enamelled box reverently clasped in one bony hand.
Long after the last sounds of the departing Free Traders had faded into the night, Harry half-lay against the tree, staring sleepily into the fire and struggling to stay awake until Mitchell returned. The events of the day crowded in on him. So many happenings in so brief a time. The most important thing, of course, was that his brother was alive and safe. Then, with a leap of the heart, he thought of his love, but splintering into that happy contemplation came a puzzling memory of Diccon saying, "she's been put in my charge…" Put in his charge? Surely he had implied he'd come upon Nanette accidentally and taken her under his wing from pure kindness? Yet—how stupid to be in a pucker over such rattlebrained stuff. The combined effects of brandy and loss of blood must be catching up with him, and his blasted arm throbbed unendingly. He shifted, preparing to stand and walk about for a bit, for Nanette must be guarded… he dare not fall asleep… before Mitch…
"Harry . . ?"
The soft call brought his nodding head up, and with a pang of guilt he was on his feet.
Nanette said repentantly, "Oh, I wish you will not!" She stepped closer and reached up to touch his brow, while asking in a worried tone, "Does your arm pain you very badly? We must…" Her troubled eyes met his, and that warm wave of colour swept up her perfect skin. She turned away, faltering, "Do not… look at me… so."
He had been thinking that he would only have to drop the merest hint and Bolster would buy him a pair of colours. The loan could be repaid, and then, was he careful, he could support a wife. It would mean she must follow the drum; not the life he would have wished for his bride. But—if she loved him … if she loved him! And even if she did, it was possible that her papa was not in the basket at all but merely a greedy and ambitious man. Perhaps his brother was a wealthy Cit, or some Indian nabob. Quite apart from the 'Uncle' she loved—yet also despised—her looks and charm had apparently won her some very eligible suitors. Even without her father's interference she could doubtless achieve a far more elevated station in life than would be her lot did she wed a penniless ex-captain, whose future was as uncertain as tomorrow's weather. His heart sank. He had so little to offer her—save his love. And in all honour he must not even offer that until he knew more of her background. Certainly, to address her now, while she was alone, would be reprehensible, wherefore he stifled a sigh and forced himself to say easily, "A man must be a fool not to look at you, for you are exquisite in that gown, my little shrew."
The familiar nickname brought a ripple of laughter. "Thank you, Señor Matador! And I shall always cherish this." She glanced down, fingering her locket gently.
Her bowed head with its dusky silken curls awoke a fierce hunger in Harry. The need to hold her in his arms was nigh unbearable.
Nanette raised her eyes and immediately turned away. "I must… go, for I fear—"
"Fear?" he touched her elbow. "Do you still feel unsafe in my company?"
"No." But she trembled and would not face him, though he sought gently to turn her. "Only—we have been thrown together in… in most unusual circumstances. I… cannot but be aware that your natural impulses must be…"
Harry's arm hurt fiercely, and he felt achingly tired; and, therefore, swift and uncharacteristic anger flared. "Had I allowed my 'natural impulses' full sway, ma'am, I'd have spanked you—or boxed your ears soundly at dinner! How dared you flirt so with my poor brother?"
Her own nerves overwrought, Nanette flashed, "Flirt with him? I grant you he is a most handsome and charming gentleman, but—"
"Yes. Blast him!" And he is also inexperienced, and you teased him abominably, you minx. As well you know!"
Her eyes sparked and she frowned deliciously. "If I enjoyed the attentions of
a fine young man, I do not see the need to ask your permission! And before you presume to criticize my behaviour, look to your own! The way you fawned upon and sighed over and worshipped Nerina, I wonder Mr. Fox did not kick you where 'twould do the most good!"
"And further," growled Harry, stepping even closer to scowl down at her, "you have more the vocabulary of a coachman than a young lady from a seminary!"
He was so near, and if his face was set and grim, it also held an expression she had never seen there before, so that her betraying heart raced and her breath hastened. "You… do not look at me," she stammered, "as if I was… a coachman."
"Perhaps," he murmured idiotically, "because I never saw one wearing… so dainty a white gown."
"Did you… not . . ?" she breathed, just as idiotically. And with her face upturned, could not look away.
Harry knew only the need to hold her against his heart and kiss those parted lips. "Oh, Nanette," he thought. "My valiant little darling girl… my beautiful shrew. I adore you." He reached for her shoulders, and she seemed to lean to him. Struggling for control, he clenched his fists and drew back. "We have been thrown together in most unusual circumstances…" He was trembling, so greatly did he long to declare himself; but honour must be served. And, therefore, never dreaming how his eyes betrayed him, he said a raspingly uneven, "Go and get some sleep, little one." And turning away, began with great concentration, to add more logs to the fire.
Harry awoke to find the clearing cold and damp, and so thick with drifting vapours he could scarcely see across it. He lay drowsily for a while, on the edge of sleep, his thoughts turning backward. Mitchell had returned soon after midnight, with word that Nerina was safely restored to her sister. He had refused to answer any further questions, demanding instead to be told of his brother's adventures since they had parted in Town. Harry had yawned his way through most of his tale, having several times been obliged to quiet Mitchell's anger, or hilarity, as the events were unfolded. For the life of him he could not recall whether he'd finished the saga or fallen asleep in the midst of it. He glanced to the side. Mitchell lay close by, sound asleep. The flap to the tent was still closed, but Daniel was up and already had a fire blazing and water heating. Harry went over to join him and was greeted with a bright smile and a note written in the youth's fine, copperplate hand, conveying the information that Diccon had not returned and it would be well for them to take to the road early. Harry agreed, gathered his toilet articles and, with Daniel conveying the bowl of hot water, made his way to a secluded spot where he proceeded to wash and shave. His arm was swollen and throbbed dully, the touch of the air was clammy, and he shivered with increasing violence until he cut himself and swore.
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette Page 20