by Amanda Scott
“How d’ye do?” he said, bowing stiffly, his cheeks reddening from the exertion.
Smiling at him, Philippa found herself wondering how on earth he had managed to ride a horse into Leicestershire from Oxford, but then she recalled the rattle of carriage wheels and deduced the Lord Winkburn had either driven himself or been driven. The others were introduced as Peter Dauntry, a slender young man whose eyes fairly popped out of his head at sight of his hostess, and Lord Reginald Partridge, a rakish gentleman with a blue-and-white Belcher handkerchief knotted casually around his throat.
“Son of old Walmsey, you know,” Edward added to the latter introduction.
“The Marquess of Walmsey, I collect.” Miss Pellerin nodded to the rakish gentleman, whose twinkling eyes and twitching lips gave Philippa to recognize a kindred spirit. The older lady added placidly, “I’ve known your papa and your dearest mama for years, young man, but I daresay you were always away at school when I chanced to visit Walmsey Hall.”
“Or locked in my bedchamber, more like,” replied Lord Reginald with an impudent grin. “Dashed if I didn’t spend most of my formative years on bread and water, ma’am.”
“But it was white bread and the purest spring water,” quipped Lord Winkburn dryly.
“Well, I can’t see that the diet did you any harm,” said Miss Pellerin. “Do sit down, gentlemen. Here is Bickerstaff, right behind you, to take your orders.”
“Something to wet our whistles, first off, man,” said Mr. Dauntry with an air of having dealt with the most important matter before he returned his admiring gaze to his hostess.
“Dash it, Pippa,” Edward said in an undertone as he drew near her chair, “I wish to speak to you. I cannot think—”
“Yes, Edward,” she replied quietly, “but not until after supper, if you please.”
He nodded curtly, moving to take his place at the head of the table, but she could not be astonished when he joined her not ten minutes after the ladies had left the gentlemen to enjoy their port. She had instructed Bickerstaff to direct him to her in the library, Miss Pellerin having kindly agreed to keep Jessalyn occupied in the drawing room until the other gentlemen arose from the table, at which time the child was to be sent off to bed.
“What sort of bumble-broth have you created, for God’s sake?” Edward demanded before he had even shut the door.
“Lower your voice, sir, and come into the room like a gentleman.”
“Dash it, Pippa, don’t try coming the stepmother over me. I won’t stand for it. Not when you’re less than eight years my senior.”
“Since I am also your principal trustee, Edward, it would behoove you to tread courteously when dealing with me,” she warned.
He pushed a hand through already tousled blond curls. “Dash it, how do you expect me to behave when I come into Leicestershire to find you’ve turned Chase Charley into a battlefield? You’ve embarrassed me before my friends and made me a dashed laughingstock. I came to hunt, but now I daresay Assheton-Smith and Lonsdale won’t let me within sight of their hounds.”
“Don’t be absurd, Edward. They will not blame you for my doings. They know only too well that I am their opponent in this matter.”
“Well, dash it, you’ve got to take those signs down at once, Pippa.”
She refused to yield, but she could not say, when she finally took leave of him, that she had succeeded in explaining her reasons or in mitigating his wrath with her.
In the week that followed, tempers at Chase Charley became more frayed than ever, and although Edward and his friends got in several days of hunting, they were given to understand that their company was suffered by the other hunters rather than enjoyed by them, making it clear that the ill feeling in the neighborhood was growing, not diminishing with time. By the end of the week Philippa would have liked nothing better than to rip down every one of her no-trespassing signs. The only thing that stopped her was that she could not do so without seeming to give in to Rochford. Even that, as a reason, now seemed insufficient.
He had not come with his uncle to collect Lucinda after lessons in nearly two weeks, and she missed his company. She even missed having a chance to argue with him, and it occurred to her that she had come to look upon his friendship as a necessity to her comfort. When his eyes had glowed with warmth, she had felt that warmth spread all through her body. And, she realized uneasily, when the gray eyes had turned chilly, she had felt the chill, as well. Until she had allowed her temper to set her against him, until she had taken offense at what everyone else considered to be a trifle exploded out of all proportion, she had enjoyed only the warm feelings. Now, on the other hand, since it had become clear that he had no intention of allowing her to force his hand, it seemed the chill was all that was left. The thought was scarcely a comforting one, but it haunted her through the week.
Thursday afternoon, Edward and his friends returned early from their hunting, bringing with them Lord Alvanley and two of the gentlemen Philippa had seen the day of Rochford’s accident. They entered the stone hall as she was passing through on her way to the saloon.
“No sport today, gentlemen?” she asked, smiling at them.
“We have,” said Alvanley with a grimace, “been up Tilton Wood and down Tilton Wood and through Tilton Wood, and they’ll very likely finish at Tilton Wood. We grew bored with Tilton Wood.”
Several of the others chuckled, but Edward said rather sharply, “There was no sport in it today, a parcel of thrusters and crammers, heading the fox this way and that. There was no bearing it, so we came home. If we could have hunted over this country, it dashed well would have been different.”
As a final straw it was sufficient. Philippa turned on her heel and without so much as a polite farewell to any of them walked through the saloon, out the terrace door, and down the steps. Giving no thought to purpose or direction, she strode angrily across the lawn to the gravel pathway leading into the park, wanting only to put as much distance as possible between herself and her stepson. Not until she heard the gurgling of the stream ahead did she realize she was drawing near to the keeper’s cottage. The thought of encountering Sam Cudlipp was enough to cause her to turn back toward the house, congratulating herself upon a narrow escape from an undesirable confrontation. It was only by the greatest bad luck that she found herself, five minutes later, face-to-face with Tom Giles.
The burly tenant farmer stopped in his tracks, but when she would have passed by with no more than a polite greeting, he barred her way.
“What hurry, m’lady? ’Tis time ’n all we had some chat.”
“I’ve nothing further to say to you, Mr. Giles.”
“Seems like I got a deal to say to you, howsomever, and this be a good place to talk, I’m thinkin’.” He moved a step nearer, and Philippa became aware of a growing fear that he might hurt her.
She stood very still. “You must let me pass. Lord Wakefield will soon come to look for me, you know, for I walked out only for a breath of air.”
“Let ’im come. I’ve a deal t’ say to ’is lordship, as well. Seems ’e oughta take a hand hereabouts.”
“You must know that he cannot, that he is underage.”
“He’s a man, ain’t ’e? T’ain’t fittin’ fer a woman t’ be dealin’ wi’ what don’t concern ’er. Woman bends t’ man, m’lady. That be the way of it.”
“Well, I shan’t bend to you, for heaven’s sake,” Philippa said, stepping back, then crying out in alarm as his thick fingers closed around her arm. “Here, let go of me! Who do you think you are? Oh, thank goodness!”
A strong hand grabbed Giles by the shoulder from behind and swung him around. A second hand, balled into a fist, connected sharply with the point of his jaw, and Mr. Giles went down like a felled oak tree at Rochford’s feet.
—12—
RUBBING HIS BRUISED KNUCKLES, THE viscount eyed Philippa sternly. “Goodness had nothing to do with this, my girl. I’ve been wanting to smash something for days.” He reached down to help th
e groggy Giles to his feet.
The farmer glared at him sullenly but measuringly as well.
“Yes, I know you’d like nothing better than to plant me a leveler,” Rochford said grimly, “but I wouldn’t advise you to try it. Though you may not believe me, I am on your side in this business, and you may thank heaven for it, since that is the only reason you are getting out of this with no more than a sore chin. If you’re wise, you’ll take yourself off before I change my mind.”
Philippa said nothing until, with no comment beyond a surly shrug, Giles had gone. Despite the rush of relief she had experienced upon seeing her rescuer, she wasn’t by any means certain that she was safer with him than she had been with Tom Giles. Her first inclination had been to fling herself onto Rochford’s broad chest and allow him to hold her very tightly, but the glitter of anger in his eyes when he looked at her stopped her cold. Now she wanted only to get back to the house with a whole skin, and by the look of him, that might not be an easy task.
She lifted her chin. “I must thank you for your timely arrival, my lord, but I collect that you have come to escort your sister back to Wyvern Towers. She will be wondering what has become of you.”
As she moved to pass him, Rochford caught her arm. His grip was light at first, but when Philippa attempted to free herself, he shook his head, grasping her much more firmly.
“Oh, no, you don’t, my girl, not until I have said a few things to you.”
“Let me go, Rochford,” she said, trying to sound dignified and succeeding in sounding apprehensive instead. She tugged again, but this time, somehow, he caught hold of her other shoulder.
“Little idiot,” he muttered through clenched teeth as he shook her, “you will listen to me.” He stopped shaking her almost at once, but while she attempted to catch her breath, he went on harshly, “I suppose you meant just to walk off alone again into God knows what sort of trouble. To leave the house unescorted, knowing as you must how distressed your people are, was the height of folly. Did you want someone to serve you a mischief?”
“No, of course not,” she retorted, nettled. “I didn’t think at all, of course. I merely wanted to get out of the house.”
“Ructions again, I suppose,” he said, releasing her. And then, when her head came up and she looked at him in surprise, he smiled grimly. “Oh, yes, I have heard all about Wakefield’s displeasure. Uncle Archie hears a good deal from Miss Pellerin, and of course Lucinda prattles constantly of what she learns whilst she is under your roof. Bad manners, of course, but I have an interest, so I don’t scold her.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he said evenly, “You can scarcely blame your stepson for his attitude, ma’am. Your actions have made life for him amongst the sporting set well nigh insupportable.”
“He is bearing up well enough,” Philippa said, attempting to match the calmness of his tone. “He has hunted three days out of the four, and if he has not had so many invitations to dine afterward as he had anticipated, I am sure I am the one who suffers for it, not he, and not his friends. They have plenty to eat and drink at Chase Charley, and I’ve noticed that when he invites guests, they come.”
“Come to see you in your den, most like,” said the viscount flatly. “Curiosity accomplishes much in social enterprise. Do you dine with your stepson and his guests?”
“Yes,” she replied slowly, “for Cousin Adeliza enjoys their company. I do not allow Jessalyn to do so, of course, but I could not deny my cousin her pleasure.” She grimaced.
“They may come to see what I am like, sir, but at least Bickerstaff has not had to turn any gentlemen callers from the door of late, and I have not received a proposal of marriage in nearly a fortnight. That must be accounted to the good.”
His mouth lightened briefly. “If you should receive an offer, I strongly advise you to refuse it,” he said, “for you may rest assured that any suitor in these parts who offered marriage to you now would be doing so in order to achieve the right to beat you soundly. Every man jack of them wishes you had a husband or father at hand to bring you to your senses.”
With a gasp of indignation, she pushed past him then and strode furiously toward the house, but Rochford had no intention of letting her escape so easily and, keeping pace with her stride for stride, he described for her conversationally, but in no uncertain terms, her stubbornness, her foolish pride, her childish desire for revenge—paltry revenge, he called it—and her foolhardiness in not properly looking after her own safety. Before they emerged from the park, Philippa was gritting her teeth and wishing she could take wing like the finch that shot out of a hedge ahead of them.
“Considering that you have done all you can do,” he said as they moved briskly up the terrace steps to the house, “to make enemies of every man in Leicestershire, one might expect you to show at least the good sense to avoid a face-to-face confrontation with any of them. But no, you have to go out looking for trouble—Good day, Wakefield,” he said with only the slightest change of tone when Edward stepped onto the terrace from the saloon as they approached the door. “Were you looking for her ladyship?”
Edward flushed uncomfortably as he looked from Philippa’s angry face to the viscount’s calm one, but he strove for a tone of casual unconcern. “As … as a matter of fact,” he said, “I was just thinking of going round to the stables to look in on those new nags of mine. Prime bits of blood and bone. Would you like to take a look at them?”
“If they are the two you sent on ahead of you, I’ve seen them, thanks,” Rochford said evenly. He did not offer further comment, and Philippa, who had already heard his opinion of both young hunters and knew it to match Jake Pottersby’s, believed Edward had reason, whether he realized it or not, to be grateful for the viscount’s reticence.
Edward glanced at her just then, and she knew from his anxious look that he had indeed been coming to look for her. She managed to smile at him.
Relief sounded in his voice, but the words he spoke—to Rochford—were scarcely calculated to please her. “I say, my lord, won’t you join us for supper? We’ve a number of good sorts here already, and I daresay it will make for just the sort of gathering you particularly like. Alvanley’s here, you know, though Mr. Brummell’s returned to London. And there’s Reg Partridge and Winkburn, and … oh, a host of fine fellows. Do say you will.”
Rochford glanced at Philippa, but she avoided his eye. She could hardly be so rude as to say outright that she did not wish him to stay, but surely he would refuse Edward’s invitation if she made no move to second it. Apparently, however, he was not so conciliating as she had hoped.
“I should like very much to stay,” the viscount said smoothly. “I believe my uncle is in the library with your cousin, and of course my sister is also here. I could send her home in the carriage, but as I have been given to understand that Miss Raynard-Wakefield does not dine in company, perhaps you will not mind if Lucinda remains to bear her company.”
“Devil a bit. Shouldn’t be surprised but what Jess will be glad to have her,” replied Edward, clearly gratified at being applied to in such a case. He glanced from Philippa to the viscount, then added diffidently, “I say, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything, bursting out upon you in such a way. I’ll leave you to finish your discussion, and when you’ve done, Rochford, perhaps you’d like to join the rest of us in the billiards room. Alvanley has challenged all comers to a tournament. Should be some good sport.”
Rochford nodded, and when Edward ducked back inside, he turned to Philippa with a wry smile. “Seems to have forgotten he was to look in on those nags of his.”
She shrugged. “I daresay you were right, and he was coming to look for me. He does not like to be at outs with people, but he has a nasty tongue and I left him abruptly. No doubt, after a time, his conscience began to trouble him, and he wished to apologize.” The door had swung to behind Edward, and she reached to push it open again. “You will be wanting to join the others, sir. The billiards room is through the dining room, at the northwest corn
er of the house. It was used to be a picture cabinet, and you will see some fine examples of Mr. Ferneley’s and Mr. Charles Lorraine Smith’s work hanging there.”
When she would have turned away from him, Rochford stopped her just as he had done earlier, with a hand on her arm. This time, however, his touch was light. She made no attempt to pull away, but neither did she look at him. His touch was warm, and in that moment she found herself wishing with all her heart that she could simply put things back the way they had been. He spoke quietly. “I cannot let you go just yet, Philippa, not until I have attempted to make amends for my own hasty tongue. I fear I have been guilty of the same fault I deplored in you, and have let my temper carry me beyond the line.”
“You are apologizing to me for what you said?” Skepticism sounded clearly in her tone, for except at the very beginning, he had not sounded as though his temper had run beyond its leash.
Rochford shook his head, amused. “Not for all I said. Merely for allowing my tongue to run on like a fiddlestick. I’ve no doubt I said much more than it was necessary to say. Seeing Giles go for you like that frightened me witless.”
She turned then, unimpressed, intending to tell him to his face that, temper or no temper, he had said more than he had had any right to say, but the look in his eyes diverted her. Instead of putting him firmly in his place, she found herself gazing into those light gray eyes as though she might read his thoughts there. And, indeed, he seemed to be sending her a message that had nothing to do with hunting or arguments or no-trespassing signs. There was warmth in the message, and something more, something that after a bare second or two made her wrench her gaze from his to look with a sense of profound relief at the top button of his coffee-colored waistcoat. It was a pearl button, and by concentrating very carefully upon the luminescence of the pearl, she was able to bring her suddenly disordered senses under some control. She was still deeply conscious of his hand on her arm. Her skin tingled where he touched her, and oddly, she found herself remembering the strength of that same hand when he had shaken her. A little thrill coursed through her at the realization that she had unleashed such power in this man, that she could unleash that power again simply by arousing his anger or, perhaps, his passion.