“ —when your friend has just saved my life."
“Him?” Ned's indignant cry was interrupted by Levington, who raised a mocking brow. “Uncle Ned? I did not know you had a niece, Windermere?” His provocative tone revealed that he had much mistaken the situation.
“She is not my niece,” Ned said through gritted teeth. He knew very well what Levington had conjectured. Ned would be delighted to strangle Christina, but he could not have Levington mistaking Robert's sister for his ladybird. “She is an old friend, Broughton's sister, the Lady Christina Lindsay.” At their expectant looks, he added grudgingly, “Lady Christina, allow me to present Baron Levington."
“Charmed.” Levington had the gall to trot his horse closer so that he might kiss her hand, his well-worn manners the epitome of grace.
It was amazing, Ned observed with an angry glance, how well one could hide a bankrupt purse beneath a very little bit of polish.
Christina batted her eyelashes at him. Her hair had escaped from her bonnet. Wisps of blond silk whipped about her face. But even disarranged as she was, with a coquetry Ned had not remarked in her before, she managed to appear suddenly alluring. “I cannot thank you enough for rescuing me, my lord. I am afraid Uncle Ned's horses bolted with me."
“Shame on you, Windermere, for leaving a lady alone with your horses."
“I did not leave her alone, and I doubt they bolted.” At Levington's startled frown, Ned decided to drop the subject. “But whatever happened, I need you to return this horse to your companion. I am afraid I offended him."
“What? Grisham?” Levington looked about and spied his friend in the distance, limping towards them. “You shouldn't have done that, Windermere. He is something of a marksman."
“That is marvelous.” Ned clenched his jaw, dismounted, and handed the horse's reins to Levington. “He has just asked me to name my seconds.”
He turned and climbed to sit beside Christina. “Head him off, will you? I want to get the lady home. Tell him he will hear from me."
“Certainly.” Levington tipped his beaver to Christina. “I shall call, if I may, to assure myself that you have recovered from this incident?"
“Please do,” Christina said, but her voice was subdued.
Ned glanced her way and saw the guilt in her expression, which confirmed his suspicions.
“Come along, then,” he said to her. “Levington, your servant.” Ned talked to his horses, and with a gentle touch he coaxed them back onto the road and out of the park.
He decided to walk them back to Broughton House. They had sprinted enough for one day and in their excited state, he could not be certain they wouldn't bolt again in the street.
Christina was, at first, silent. After a moment, she said in an abrupt voice, “I am sorry for the trouble I've caused you."
Ned opened his mouth to speak, and his bottled words burst forth. “Well, let me tell you, my girl, that it is not at all the thing to spring your horses—or my horses, or anyone's horses—in the park!"
“I wasn't speaking of that! I was speaking of your duel."
Ned was taken aback. “My duel?” He gave a chuckle. “You needn't concern yourself with that."
“But Lord Levington said his friend was a marksman!"
“You didn't think I would meet him, did you?"
Christina's blue eyes opened wide. “But mustn't you?"
He shrugged. “Not if I can help it. I shall send my friend Carnes to speak to him. He's a diplomatic fellow.” Ned directed her a chafing glance. “Unless you think Robert would be more suited?"
Christina started up in alarm. “Oh, no, I wouldn't think so! Robert has no experience in such matters. At least, I do not think so.” She faltered. “But what can your friend Carnes say?"
“He will say that I was not myself. That I was sick with dread—because of a lady, you understand—so that I must have lost my head."
“Which, of course, you did not!"
A hint of pique lay behind her words. Her contrariness confused him.
“I am certain I would have if I'd been given time to think. But I was angry, you know. I told you not to stir up my bays."
“I know."
Her chin was in the air. It seemed no further apology would be forthcoming. Ned felt his anger resurge.
“So, why did you do it?"
“Do what?"
“Don't play the innocent with me! Why did you spring my horses?"
Christina turned round eyes upon him. “Oh, but I didn't. I was sitting there, doing what I had been told, when your nasty horses bolted with me, Uncle Ned."
Again, that appellation astonished him. “Who gave you leave to call me Uncle Ned? I'm not your uncle, my girl."
“And I am not your girl."
They had reached Broughton House, Ned realized. In his preoccupation, he had guided his horses here without thinking.
“Wait a moment.” He grasped her arm as she started to jump down unassisted. “I have not finished.” The chit had thrown him off balance, but he would get to the bottom of this incident.
“Oh?” She turned towards him coolly, and her gaze raked his grasp.
“I asked you why you presumed upon our relationship.” He could not have a girl calling him uncle, especially not a girl with a face and a figure like hers. “I am not so old as that, and you are not so young."
“You do not think so?"
“No, I don't."
“Well ... if it amuses you to delude yourself...” She gave a little laugh and a shrug.
Ned knew when he was being baited. He baited Robert all the time, but he discovered he did not particularly enjoy being on the other end. “It amuses me not at all,” he said, gritting his teeth. “And I asked, who gave you leave?"
Christina turned her clear blue eyes up and widened them into a guileless look. “Why, you did, Uncle Ned. Did you not refer to yourself as such when you escorted me from the Abbey?"
Ned sat back and glowered. “I didn't mean it that way,” he muttered feebly.
Though ... he supposed he had. He had been feeling rather put out. The service had rattled him. And, then, Louisa had made her ludicrous suggestion, just when he was so eager for a little brandy to help him recover. “I was referring to myself with respect to Little Ned,” he hedged.
“Robert Edward, do you mean? But you are not his uncle either, so how was I to know?” Christina smiled pityingly at him. “Of course, you are not his uncle. However, I"—she turned quickly and jumped down before he could stop her—"I am his aunt."
Ned's temper flared. “Oh, yes? Well, we shall see about that, my girl."
“Now, Uncle Ned, you are being silly.” With that parting shot, Christina sauntered towards the house.
Ned watched her retreating back in bemused disbelief. What was the chit so riled about? She was not what she seemed.
His horses stamped impatiently. Knowing he must not make them stand, not after the trauma Lady Chris had caused them, Ned gritted his teeth and urged them homeward.
“Silly, was I?” Ned fumed at this image. Then, he recalled his last words, and an angry flush moved up his cheeks. What had he meant by “we shall see?"
One of his horses snorted in derision. It had been a foolish thing to say, Ned admitted. What could he do about it, after all? She was Little Ned's aunt. He was not Little Ned's uncle. The only way he could change that situation would be to make her stop being an aunt or to make himself become an uncle, and how he could do that—
The only possible solution crept into his mind.
And the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
“Oh, no you don't, my girl.” Ned shook his head and grimaced tightly. He had caught himself just in time. Better not to let that notion ever enter his brain.
Himself and that spoiled, little chit?
Never!
Chapter Three
On entering Broughton House, exhilarated by her victory over the rake, Christina discovered that her brother and sister-in-law ha
d been home for some time.
Louisa was sitting in the drawing room, cradling the baby in her arms. Looking up at Christina's entry, she explained that they had arrived at her former guardian's just as her uncle was settling down for his doze. Loath to disturb him, they had left a message with the servants and hastened home to comfort Robert Edward.
“I cannot imagine what caused me to forget my uncle's napping hour,” Louisa said, “unless it was my distress over Robert Edward's crying.” She hugged the sleeping baby and cooed to him, “That nasty archbishop frightened my darling, didn't he?"
With her eyes firmly fixed on her child, she asked Christina, with an air of nonchalance, “How was your drive, my dear?"
“It was rather brisk for a drive, Louisa."
“Was it?” Louisa glanced up eagerly.
Christina directed her an accusing glare.
Louisa's gaze faltered, before she fumbled with the lace at her throat. “Well, I daresay my thinking was a little bit muddled, as I said. I hope the weather did not spoil your outing?"
“No, of course not. I always love a rugged bounce."
This comment drew a second curious look; but Louisa must have decided she would be wiser not to probe, for instead she rose and, bringing the baby to Christina, forced him into her arms.
“Would you kindly help me just a moment, dear, and hold Robert Edward while I fetch my wrap? The room has taken on a chill."
Alarmed, Christina fumbled with the blanketed bundle. “But couldn't a servant—"
“No—for I am not at all certain where I left it. And, besides, I must speak directly to the chef. I will not be a moment."
Relentlessly, Louisa pressed the baby into Christina's hands, which seemed suddenly to have turned to paws. With Louisa's help, and only because she had to, Christina learned to support the baby's wobbly neck. She was certain he would waken and howl in response to this mistreatment, but exhausted from his morning exertions, the little marquess slept soundly on.
“Now, just sit comfortably here, and I shall be back in a trice. If he wakens, you might try singing to him."
“Singing?"
Christina knew a few hymns, though she feared they might offend his lordship by reminding him of his dip in the baptismal font. She prayed very earnestly that Robert Edward would not waken.
She did not want to sit down. After her skirmish with Ned, she had felt like pacing, but Louisa had left her no choice. After a few anxious minutes ticked by, she began to relax. The baby's sweet scent drifted up to her nose, and, taking a whiff, she pondered on his unfamiliar essence. It was a soothing mixture of sweet milk, gentle soap, and pure, baby innocence. Robert Edward's soft, little body warmed her breast.
Gazing at his downy, fair head, his flat, little nose and shuttered eyes, which were certain to be blue, she recalled Ned's words in the carriage.
“Little Ned. Is that what he calls you? Hah!” she scoffed. Then, she had to stifle her chuckle as the baby stirred and frowned.
She hummed nervously to him. “Onward Christian Soldiers” seemed to appeal, for he settled right down. Christina's modest success caused her chest to swell with pride. The glow it kindled there seemed to linger. It calmed her restless heart.
“You don't look anything like Ned,” she whispered to the baby. “Do you, little man? If you did, you would have black hair and dancing black eyes, and a wicked gleam I should be tempted to knock right off your face. But you are nothing like that, are you, my angel, and I wouldn't do that to you, would I? No, but I nearly did it to him."
Robert Edward shifted happily in her arms, and this time, she found that his movement did not make her nervous. She was quite good at this, she discovered. She must have a special knack for holding babies. She wondered if Ned knew how to hold Robert Edward and soothe him back to sleep, but she was ready to wager he did not. She would show him her talent sometime and make him squirm with envy.
Ned had gentle hands, of course. She had seen that immediately in the way he handled his horses’ mouths. His long, strong fingers had practically stroked the reins. Even when he had taken her hand to place them in it, his touch had been firm and gentle.
A memory of his touch made her close her eyes.
The baby warmed her breast.
“Christina!"
Robert burst into the room with two spaniels at his heels. The baby opened his eyes and gave a burp, and she nearly panicked; but she jiggled him briskly, and his eyelids drifted shut.
“Did you see that, Robert?” she whispered, gazing at the baby in wonder. “You ought not to make such noise, but did you see? I got him back to sleep."
“What? Oh, yes. Well done.” Robert smiled at his offspring, oblivious to the two dogs, jumping against his trouser legs.
When one of them managed to claw a tender spot, he recalled where he was. “Down, Cassius and Brutus! No need for all this jealousy! Out into the corridor, the both of you, now!”
His spaniels brought under control, Robert straightened to face his sister.
“See here, Christina. Louisa tells me you went for a drive with Ned."
Surprised, she replied, “Yes, of course I did. You saw us go."
“No, I did not."
“Robert"—Christina stared at him, thinking he must have lost his wits—"Louisa told us to go. She practically forced me on Ned. He asked for your permission, which you gave."
“Did I?” Robert's brow furrowed. He dragged a quick hand through his hair. “I daresay I might have.” He grumbled, “Fool parson. He must have been deaf."
“Robert!” Louisa crossed the threshold just in time to hear this remark. “I have never heard you speak of a man of the cloth in that way. And the archbishop?"
Robert looked reasonably abashed. “But he would go on so, Louisa! And as if poor Little Robert were not screaming to high heaven."
His indignation traveled to the baby, who let out a cry. Christina's stomach knotted, but she held on to him.
“Do you want me to take him?” Louisa moved to her side.
“No.” Christina crooned softly and jiggled. “No. Let me try."
“Then rock him slightly. That's it. You see, how he loves you."
The child had quieted. Looking down at his innocent face, Christina realized she had never felt so loved. Errant tears sprang to her eyes. “He does, doesn't he."
“Yes, of course. It is a wonder how Robert Edward knows his godparents."
“His god—” Christina looked up. “You mean Ned? —I mean—Lord Windermere?"
Louisa sighed happily. “Yes. It gives me such pleasure to watch him. He has a special touch with babies."
“Louisa, see here!” Robert had remembered his earlier objection. “Christina says you told them to go to the park together."
“I may have suggested it,” Louisa admitted, “but perhaps the weather was not quite right for a drive."
“The weather is not the issue,” Robert said, raking his hand through his hair again, “though, now you mention it, it makes matters worse.”
It seemed he would not be so easily distracted this time.
“Ned is the issue,” he said. “I do not think it wise for Christina to be seen in his company."
Louisa dimpled at him. “Now, my darling, what a foolish thing to say! How could she not be seen in his company? They are both Robert Edward's godparents."
“But a drive in the park is something altogether different. If they were seen by anyone—anyone at all—it is certain to be repeated about town. And Christina has not even been approved for Almack's yet."
At the mere mention of Almack's, Christina felt a sudden weight descending on her chest, which had nothing to do with the baby pressed there. She had heard tales of Almack's: the strict patronesses, and, to her way of thinking, the absurd ban on waltzing. Precisely what she needed, she thought wryly. Another set of restrictions.
But Louisa was saying cheerily, “You have nothing to fear there, Robert, as you must know. Of course, Christina will have v
ouchers, and I shall take her to Almack's myself. Lady Jersey and the Countess de Lieven will be calling here tomorrow afternoon."
Christina smothered a sigh and held the baby tighter. She could say nothing, of course. If Louisa meant to trouble herself to bring Christina out, then she must accept the kindness and pretend that the balls at Almack's were the height of her ambition.
But she wagered to herself that Ned had never been forced to attend the dull assemblies. Rakes were never forced.
She would give anything, she realized, to see Ned made to suffer the boredom of Almack's.
Robert agreed with his wife, but grudgingly. “I daresay you're right. Almack's should pose no problem, but I will not have Sally Jersey spreading it about that my sister is receiving attentions from Lord Windermere. Nothing could be more prejudicial to her prospects."
Christina bristled, but again she hid her feelings. Hang her prospects! She had no fears that a match would not be found for her. The sister of a duke, with a handsome dowry, would always be sought for her money. She might break every rule society cherished, and still her suitors would flock to the door.
No one would be put off by the fact that she had ridden in an open carriage with Lord Windermere. No one, at least, who would not be put off by her own antics once he had learned of them.
And, besides, Robert acted as if his friend could not be trusted, when Ned had been the perfect gentleman in the park.
Well ... perhaps not the perfect gentleman, but he had not done anything to risk her reputation. On the contrary, it was he who had cautioned her about her behavior.
A sudden pang of guilt assailed her. If either gentleman they'd seen should start a rumor about her, it would be her fault, not Ned's. But she could not say this to Robert.
The baby's wet nurse came into the room, a plump, rosy-cheeked woman from Yorkshire.
“Does tha’ want me to take his little lordship now, your Grace?” she asked Louisa.
“Yes, Dobbs. Lady Christina will be growing tired. We have imposed upon her long enough."
Christina did not protest, although she wanted to. She missed the comfort of the baby's body as soon as Nurse took him away.
So Ned had held the baby, had he? She tried to imagine such a tiny mite in his strong arms, and found the picture made her smile. How would he quieten Little Ned? Would he twirl him round and round as he had done her? Or sing “Onward Christian Soldiers"? Somehow, she imagined Ned's lullaby to be naughtier than hers.
A Pair of Rogues Page 4