by Conn, Claudy
She giggled and took the hat from him before he realized what she was about. With an admirable quickness of wit she discovered all she needed to know and begged the corporal to observe the line her finger traced. “There … do you not see how soiled the lining has become? I thought this was a perfectly good hat—or at least it was until I was stupid enough to drop it. At any rate I was taking it into town to have a new lining installed. I did so want to have my cousin’s name embroidered inside as well and then bring it back as a surprise. But how wonderful that you have found it, for perhaps now I can set it to rights!”
“I see … you … say Mr. Wimborne is your cousin?”
“Why, yes, I am Miss Myriah White, and I am staying just a few days before I leave for my aunt’s in Dover. Do tell me … where did you find the hat?” continued Myriah sweetly.
“Not very far from the house, Miss White …” The Corporal faltered, his frown deepening, for his case had suddenly vanished. “Near a rather large area of stained grass.”
“Stained grass?” Myriah asked in surprise.
“Yes, Miss White … stained with blood,” the corporal said without caution.
“Oh—oh dear … blood, you say …? Oh … I do feel ill,” she peeped at him. “Was it an animal, poor thing?” She put a hand to her heart.
“Yes … do tell us,” said a deep, authoritative voice from the stairs. Lord Wimborne came forward and asked, “Was it animal blood?”
The young military man blushed. “Well, no, my lord—actually we are certain … we have reason to believe a man was shot.”
“Why?” pursued his lordship, his face stony.
The corporal eyed Lord Wimborne. “Confound it, my lord, you know very well why! We shot at a smuggler and found a pool of blood on your land!”
Lord Wimborne’s hard gray eyes never flickered. His lips were set and his tone was dry. “Then, it appears to me you should be seeking the desperate individual in earnest and not delivering hats!”
The riding officer’s cheeks flushed. It was obvious he believed he was being duped, but there was not very much he could do. He was already on dangerous ground. “But—but, my lord …”
“Shall I fetch my brother? Perhaps if he were to confirm the ownership of the hat in question …” Lord Wimborne said coldly.
The young man turned and rubbed his hawk-like nose. He was going to catch hell for this. He had no proof, and it was obvious his lordship meant to stir up the coals if he did not retreat. “No, that won’t be necessary. I should be getting back to my men. We do, as my lord has pointed out, have smugglers to trap.” He turned, bowed to Myriah, and softly offered, “Good day.”
Lord Christopher Wimborne stood as though transfixed on the closed door as he waited for the sound of retreating mounted soldiers. At length he sighed and looked at Myriah with a questioning glance. “You make an excellent prevaricator, Miss White,” he said quietly.
“I find that ‘excellent and prevaricator’ do not a compliment make, and I do not take it as one,” Myriah returned. What was in his head now—just what was wrong with him?
“Would you do me the honor of advising me why you felt it necessary in this circumstance?”
She looked at him fully and felt her brows arch. Whatever was the matter with him? Didn’t he realize she had playacted to protect Billy? Apparently not, for it was evident he was displeased with her. “My lord, I thought you overheard all—he wanted to see Billy.”
“And what—you felt he should not?” asked his lordship. “I very naturally thought he should not, but why, Miss White, did you?”
“My goodness … he is an exciseman, as you very well know. Furthermore, they were looking for a man they had shot at and hit, and had they seen Billy with his wounded arm, naturally conclusions would have been drawn. I did not wish them to … look towards Billy.”
“Then, Miss White, you believe my brother to be a smuggler?” his lordship asked, his expression and tone unfathomable.
“Nooo, indeed, I do not!” Myriah played with her fingers. “What I believe is that Billy became embroiled,” she then muttered, “as I often have been, in … in an excursion that somehow got out of hand. I don’t know what that excursion was, nor do I care. What I do care about is your brother’s well-being. Do you disapprove?”
“Disapprove? Why, no—you did just what I would have done had I answered the door of my home!” his lordship returned drily.
“Oh!” said Myriah, the color rising to her cheeks. “I … I am so sorry. Indeed the circumstances which threw your brother and me together … were such that all formalities were dropped. I … it … seems I have presumed …” she said, turning her face away. A painful hollow was created somewhere in the region of her chest—a hurt she recognized as rejection!
Myriah had never before been rejected, and it came as a facer from this handsome blade.
Kit studied the top of her fiery head a moment. He could not allow himself to trust her. He sensed a lie about her, and yet when her magnificent eyes had met his own so innocently searching for approbation he had wanted to reassure her—and yet he didn’t.
He was angry, far too angry with her, for having spoken to the exciseman, for if Myriah had not been suspicious before, she certainly would be now. Yet a guilty pinch nipped at him. It was unlike him to be rude to anyone, least of all a lovely woman, and there was no use denying his attraction for Myriah. She would have to go—and soon!
“If you will excuse me, Miss White, it seems I have been most rude. While you are at Wimborne Towers, do consider it your own.”
He saw the defensive look that took over her face and felt a wave of admiration for the control she exerted over her anger. Damn but she was exquisite!
“Consider Wimborne Towers my own? My lord, I take leave to tell you that I would not, with the exception of your brother, associate myself with anything that is yours!”
She turned on her pretty blue slipper, picked up the velvet skirts of her form-fitted peacock blue gown, and sped to the second floor, leaving him gazing after her with a slow, warm grin covering his countenance.
* * *
Myriah slammed the door to the bedroom and leaned back against its cool whiteness, arms folded and smooth cheeks flushed. The utter want of civility of him! The inconsiderate … ill-bred … cad, thought Myriah heatedly.
She crossed the room quickly, picked up a well-used deck of playing cards, and handled it agitatedly. Lord … if he but knew who she was, but thankfully, he did not … for he could use it against her, couldn’t he?
And she did not want Lord Wimborne to be civil to her because he was impressed by her name or her wealth. No, she wanted him to like her for herself. For some inexplicable reason he seemed bent on finding fault with her. ’Twas not only over the incident with the military man, but earlier that morning in Billy’s room. She had felt his coldness—even his dislike—and had been surprised by it.
She looked at the deck of cards in her hands for the first time and thought of Billy Wimborne. A soft smile crept into her eyes. At any rate, here was someone who took her as she was. She turned and left the room, crossed the hall, and knocked on his open door.
“It’s about time!” yelled the young man inside. As Myriah entered he pulled a long face and complained, “Thought you had all forgotten me, and I’m devilishly hungry!”
She laughed. “Well, ’tis only noon yet—so you shall have to wait, but how would you like a game of faro to help pass the time?”
“She-devil!” returned young Mr. Wimborne. “Here I am half-dead, and you after m’blunt!”
For answer she laughed, drew up the stained wood table, sat across from him, and smiled. “I shall deal.”
“Then do so, but I warn you, m’girl, keep your hands above the table!”
They played a few hands before Billy asked casually who had been at the house.
Myriah eyed him for a moment. “Why do you ask?”
“Because Kit left m’room to go greet our guest, and
we get so few these days, and then he up and disappears. And you … you slam doors—well, it fair sets a chap to wondering,” he said, raising his eyes to her face.
“Your odious brother does not like me—not that I care—but he need not be so rude. After all …”
“After all what? And don’t be calling m’brother odious!” Billy snapped, quick to range himself on his brother’s side.
“Well, of course, you would not think so. But then he was not uncivil to you!” Myriah retorted, flushing.
“Was Kit uncivil to you?”
“Somewhat. But in all fairness, I suppose I was presumptuous.”
“Fiend seize it, girl! What are you talking about?” asked Billy, frowning.
“Your hat!” Myriah sighed. “It seems they found the blasted thing near your blood … on Wimborne lands. Well … I simply threw them off the track by saying that I had dropped your hat when I was on my way to town to have a new lining and embroidery job done on it. They wanted to see you, and your brother pretended to be willing enough, which seems to have done the trick—besides his air of superiority. Quite impressive really … but then he was most disturbed that I had answered the door.”
“Good Lord! Yes, I can imagine!” replied Billy, frowning darkly.
“Billy!” Myriah exclaimed. “Et tu Bruté?”
“You don’t understand, Myriah! Bless you … for you did just as you ought. Always knew you were a right ’un, but Kit … he don’t like the notion of you smelling out our business!”
Myriah took umbrage. “Billy Wimborne! I have not tried to smell out your business. I have already told your odi … your brother … that I am not interested in your business. Though, to be sure, I have developed a certain absorption in your welfare.”
“I know that, m’girl! Lord, I trusted you with m’life, didn’t I? ’Tis Kit … he doesn’t trust so easily. I suppose it was the war … you know he only sold out a year ago, and well, never mind that now. Don’t fret it—he’ll come round.”
“Well, I don’t care if he does or not … for I shall soon be going,” Myriah announced haughtily.
Billy eyed her for a moment and said slowly, “You know, Myriah … I have been thinking that you shouldn’t leave for quite a spell … might end up with the knot neatly tied if you do … for your father is bound to be in a rage.”
Myriah bit her lip and imagined what might lie in store for her if her father were to find her while he was still bent on marrying her off.
“I know, Billy, but your brother really dislikes having me here. So I thought I would be off on the morrow!”
“My brother will allow you to stay as long as I wish you to stay. And, Myriah, I’m not about to allow you to be eaten alive after you have been friend enough to save me!”
“Billy, he will be so angry—I know.”
“Kit? Funny you should think that. It ain’t like him to lose his temper. Friendly sort and cool and collected—always has been. No … he’ll come round.”
“Very well. I thank you, sir,” Myriah said still doubtful.
“Good Lord! What have I done—you will stay and continue, I know, to plague me!” Billy bantered.
She tweaked his nose and told him to go to sleep. He eyed her defiantly. “The devil I will! Where is my lunch?”
“Oh, I quite forgot about food. I shall go have Cook send it up at once,” Myriah said, moving away.
A few moments later Myriah stood in the kitchen with Cook and watched a tray of food carried out by one of Cook’s boys. She turned once again to the older woman, placing a coin in her hand and smiling warmly. “I do feel so distressed about asking this, for I can appreciate how difficult ’twill be when there are only your two boys, but I would so like a hot bath.”
“Never you fret it, miss! I’ll have those rascally brats of mine carry up the hot water right away.” Cook beamed at Myriah’s generosity. “And, Miss, will you be wanting a luncheon tray?”
“Oh, no, thank you. I’m not really hungry today.”
Myriah went into the library and began fingering some of the leather-bound volumes. Her eyes strayed to the leaded, diamond-paned windows and saw a rider making his easy way up the front path.
Honey-colored hair, uncovered and lit by the full day’s sun, billowed about a handsomely rugged countenance. Myriah’s eyes lingered and discovered once again the broad shoulders encased in a well-cut, dark brown riding jacket. She felt a tingling sensation, and on sudden impulse she dashed out of the library and out the front doors, blue velvet swishing around her body.
She would go see Tabby, she told herself. Of course … why shouldn’t she go and see her groom?
* * *
Lord Wimborne had made a visit to nearby Rye, and it had proved fruitful. A meeting for the following night had been agreed upon. He rode his dark roan into the stable and found Tabby brushing down Myriah’s black stallion. Wimborne dismounted, undid the girth to his saddle, and nodded to Fletcher, who came to retrieve the tack and take the horse to pasture.
He looked appraisingly at the black horse Tabby was grooming. He was an excellent judge of horseflesh, and the animal that stood so regally before him was certainly prime blood and must have come at quite a price. It seemed that Miss White was well able to afford what was most certainly a very expensive piece of livestock.
He then turned his attention to Miss White’s groom and smiled amicably. “Finest piece of blood I’ve clapped my eyes on in an age.”
Tabby beamed. “That he be.”
“Your mistress was certainly fortunate, for I have been looking for just such an animal these three months. But, of course, I don’t get too many opportunities to go to Tattersall’s in London,” his lordship said calculatingly.
Tabby was no fool, but he had no reason to be suspicious. He did not realize he was being pumped, and he answered candidly. “They get the best, they do, Tattersall’s.”
Kit put his finger to his lips. “Then, she did acquire him there—your mistress? Miss … er …”
“White!” Myriah said from the doorway, thanking providence she had arrived in time.
Kit turned, and his habitually merry gray eyes glinted. He had wanted to see if Myriah’s groom was in on her game.
Tabby glanced hastily from Lord Wimborne to his lady and caught the look in her eyes. He sent his own downwards.
When Tabby looked up again it was to meet the questioning eyes of Fletcher, who had just returned. He pulled a rueful face and busied himself with cleaning the leathers.
“Ah, Miss White,” said Kit. “We were just speaking about your magnificent black here … and where you might have purchased him.”
“Oh? It was purchased for me … I believe at Tattersall’s. Silkie was a gift from my mother … five years ago.”
His lordship saw a sadness hover around her eyes; he wondered about it and on impulse offered an invitation. “Would you enjoy a tour about Wimborne Park with me?”
Myriah brightened at once. “Oh, that would be lovely. Thank you.”
He offered his arm and stopped as if suddenly remembering. “Oh, do excuse me. I am taking you away … for apparently you came to the stables with … something in mind?” He watched her face with only a mild show of interest.
She blushed, and he could not help but note it. I was right, he thought. The chit is hiding something.
“I … I had wanted to speak to my groom about a matter that can certainly wait. It is so warm and lovely that … I should hate the chance of missing a guided tour.” She cast her eyes up to his and allowed him a full look.
Fiend take her, thought Kit, she is too beautiful … and my blood will need cooling if I drink in those eyes. He led her for a time down the main drive to the pike, turning off onto a narrow trail and pointing towards a body of sea green water. “That’s Rother River, and it borders Romney Marsh.”
“Oh, it is quite lovely here, as lovely as my own home,” Myriah said, off guard. “But wait … Romney Marsh … is that not the area notorious
for harboring smugglers?”
“Ah, yes, it has quite a reputation.”
“Reputation? It certainly does.” Myriah snorted. “And here it is adjacent to Wimborne.”
“Would you trust my answer?”
“It depends—would you trust me with it?”
He laughed. “I see trust is an issue with us, but, Myriah, I have never claimed to be someone I’m not.” It was a shot in the dark, but he saw from her expression that he had hit his target.
“OH!” Myriah exclaimed. “I must say, I do question Billy’s judgment. However did he come to think that you are a friendly sort? For you must know that I find you nothing more than a … a … boor!” Myriah turned, very much on the point of abandoning her guided tour.
* * *
He laughed suddenly, and there was a beguiling quality in his voice as his hand reached out and caught Myriah’s bare arm. She turned her countenance upon him as a thrill taunted her flesh. The sudden memory of his lips flashed over her—and suddenly it was no longer a memory.
He had her in his warm embrace, his head bent and his mouth on hers, parting her lips for his velvet, waltzing tongue. She lost herself in the moment, in the dance that was tingling her body and calling for more of the same.
His kiss evolved into another, and she felt as though she were about to collapse when he pulled back, set her on his feet, and inclined his head. “Forgive me.”
She wanted to stamp her foot at him but tried to collect herself as he actually took her hand and linked it through his arm, adding, “I took advantage, but damnation, woman, I can’t say I am sorry for it.” He eyed her curiously. “Now tell me, Miss White … who the hell are you?”
Myriah was bubbling over with confusion. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to slap him. She wanted him to—what? Declare his devotion as her other suitors had? However, he appeared to be in control of himself and was obviously playing some deep game.
She pulled out of his gentle hold and, without a word, left him standing there, looking after her as she made her hasty departure.
Her indignation made her unreasonable, and her fury carried her all the way to the house and to her waiting bath.