“ ’Tis good to see you again, Falkham,” Hampden said. “And in such good company, too.”
“I’m not nearly so glad to see you,” Garett replied dryly. “You’ve only been here a few minutes and already ‘my company’ is ready to slit my throat. Your throat, too, I might add.”
Hampden chuckled. “That face and figure alone are lethal enough to slay a man. What would she need with a knife?”
Marianne whirled to survey the two men, who seemed to be laughing at her. “If you gentlemen are quite through discussing my person, you might consider another topic for conversation. One that’s not quite so rude.”
A wicked grin crossed Hampden’s face. “I can’t help it, pigeon. You’re such a refreshing change from women at court. Most of them simper and smirk and never let you know what they’re really thinking. Only the king’s mistresses exhibit your… er… strong-mindedness.”
“Mr. Hampden!” How dare he compare her to the king’s mistresses? Oh, if only she could tell him just how wrong he was about her character!
“I meant it as a compliment,” he said sincerely, shocking her even more.
“Mr. Hampden, if you’re going to—”
“Lord Hampden, to be precise,” Garett put in. “I suppose I should have introduced you properly. Mina, this is my dear friend, Colin Jeffreys, the Marquess of Hampden, who served out part of his exile with me in France.”
She glanced from Garett to Hampden disbelievingly. “Another one? Just what I need—two wretched noblemen tormenting me!” She rolled her eyes heavenward, and the men laughed. Then she pivoted and headed back for the garden.
“Where are you going?” Garett called out.
“Where I don’t have to put up with arrogant lords!”
Both men chuckled.
“We’ll see you at dinner, then?” Hampden shouted, but she didn’t answer.
Garett watched her go, unable to tear his gaze from the sway of her hips. Two weeks, and he still couldn’t think for wanting her. It vexed him exceedingly. How could he desire her so badly when she might very well be Tearle’s spy?
That reminded him… He looked around for the guard. Only when he spotted his man standing alert at the edge of the garden did he relax.
“My God, Falkham, where did you find her?” Hampden asked when she’d passed out of sight.
“You might say she found me.” Garett turned back toward the house.
Hampden followed. “Is she really a gypsy? I can scarcely believe it. For all her sauciness, she’s as graceful as any lady.”
Garett smiled grimly. That was precisely the problem. Mina had this inexplicable ability to turn the most sordid task—like sewing up a man’s wounds—into a polite encounter at a royal dinner. She had a true lady’s approach to life. If anything unsavory came her way, she turned it aside before it besmirched her.
After that day in the library, he’d been prepared for anything. Although she hadn’t instigated their kiss in the library, she hadn’t fought it either, and once he’d got past her token protests, she’d been downright eager.
Until her aunt had discovered them. Then Mina had attempted to use his actions to gain her release.
After that, he’d expected her to try deliberate seduction, perhaps as a way of getting him to set her free. Instead she’d confounded his expectations—she’d done nothing the least bit scandalous.
That day in the library, he’d thought she was enamored of him. In fact, he’d counted on it in his attempt to gain the truth from her. He’d tried coldness, and he’d tried barbed questions. He’d been unrelenting in his inquisitions, but it had gained him nothing. Not only had she kept silent but she hadn’t even seemed affected by his distant air. That irritated him most of all.
“Is she?” Hampden repeated, bringing Garett out of his thoughts.
“Is she what?”
“You know. A gypsy.”
“Yes. Partly, that is. She’s a nobleman’s bastard.”
“That would explain why she’s here under your protection.”
Garett debated whether to tell his friend the truth. Perhaps he should. Hampden might know something that could help uncover Mina’s true identity. And her relationship to Sir Pitney.
“Actually she’s here because I suspect she works for my uncle,” he said baldly.
“The hell you say! That pretty thing? She has a sharp tongue, I’ll admit, but she doesn’t strike me as Tearle’s preference. He likes his women soft and weak.” Hampden frowned. “From what I hear, he particularly enjoys seeing them cower. Your Mina doesn’t seem to cower before anyone.”
“I know,” Garett admitted. “But it’s possible he knows something about her and is using it to force her into doing his bidding.”
“If you say so. But I can’t see it.”
“Well, she didn’t come to you claiming she was scarred by smallpox and so had to hide her face beneath a mask. Nor did you witness her being recognized by Tearle’s henchman before he died. Nor have you seen—”
“Enough. I take your point.” Hampden rubbed his chin. “Perhaps you’re right, but I still can’t believe it. Her eyes are those of an innocent.” He grinned. “A devastatingly attractive innocent, I might add.”
Garett gritted his teeth. “You can’t have her, Hampden. Regardless of what I suspect she is, she’s still under my protection.”
Hampden cocked one eyebrow. “Ah, but is that all she’s been under? I mean, if you haven’t bedded her—”
“Don’t even think it,” Garett growled, suddenly annoyed by Hampden’s insinuations.
“I can’t help but think it, since it bothers you so.” Hampden laughed. “I’m glad I came to visit. I’ve been here only a few minutes, and already I’m having the time of my life.”
Garett gave his friend a long, steady look. “I think, Hampden, this is one time I won’t be sorry to see you leave.”
“You may be right,” Hampden said without a trace of remorse.
* * *
Marianne nervously smoothed the simple muslin of the best gown she had at present. Her others had been left behind in London, not that she’d have dared to wear them anyway. What she wouldn’t give to appear at dinner in one of her silk and velvet gowns, especially since she was to dine with two men who already thought the worst of her character.
She sighed. A gown wouldn’t change their minds about that.
This gown was perfectly serviceable and attractive, even if it wasn’t fine enough for consorting with an earl and a marquess. Aunt Tamara had made the gown especially for her when they’d first come to Lydgate, so it exactly fit her petite figure, accentuating her slender waist and delicate build. Though the only lace adorning it was that of her chemise, the edges of which peeked above the low neckline, the amber yellow fabric seemed to pick up the gold in her hair, which she’d carefully dressed in artful curls.
Still, the gown wasn’t satin, nor did it have an embroidered stomacher. Oh, well. She had to make the best of what she had. She’d suggested that she not come to dinner at all, but Garett had said he didn’t want Hampden to think he was deliberately hiding her away.
Hampden. Oh, dear. The mere thought of matching wits with him and Garett all evening started butterflies in her stomach. So as soon as she entered the dining room, she looked for the one man who wouldn’t make her nervous. William.
Over the past two weeks, William had become something of a friend. She knew why—his attentions to her aunt were obvious—but she didn’t mind. At least he didn’t suspect her of being in Sir Pitney’s employ.
Only after William smiled at her did she venture a glance at Garett and his friend, though she almost wished she hadn’t. The two of them stood near the fireplace, talking animatedly. They didn’t notice her enter, giving her time to observe them. To her chagrin, they were both dressed to impress.
Hampden she noticed first because of his richly curled blond hair and burgundy doublet. His breeches were burgundy as well, though his stockings were a modest bl
ack. They were the only modest thing on his person—the wide lace collar of his snowy shirt, the embroidered waistcoat, the profusion of ribbon loops on his breeches all bespoke a man of consequence. Yet his broad chest and sculpted calves weren’t those of a mere man of fashion. Indeed, they reminded her of…
She turned her gaze to Garett and sucked in her breath. Oh, Lord, did he always have to cut such a handsome figure? As usual, his clothing was modest—dove-gray breeches, black silk stockings, and a black doublet with the cuffs of his dove-gray waistcoat emerging from beneath. Not an inch of lace adorned his collar.
Nor was his glorious hair curled like Hampden’s. Instead, its wanton waves and roughly hewn edges made him look like a highwayman. She never ceased to feel a thrill of danger when she saw his unfashionable hair.
As if he felt her eyes upon him, Garett turned. His gaze swept down her bodice to her tightly cinched waist, and he frowned, cutting her more deeply than words could have. No doubt he disapproved of her simple dress.
She hesitated, suddenly embarrassed to be dressed so poorly, but Hampden saw her and his eyes brightened. “Ah, Falkham. If I’d known what you hid out here in the country, I’d have come to visit sooner.”
Garett’s frown deepened. “Why haven’t you worn that dress before, Mina?”
Her feelings even more wounded now, she lifted her chin to smile at Hampden. “I saved it for a special occasion. But I see now I… I couldn’t hope to dress properly for a dinner such as this. So if you’ll excuse me…”
Abruptly she left the room, a hard lump lodged in her throat. And she’d thought she looked beautiful! How could she have forgotten how richly the nobility dressed for dinner? Had she really been playing the gypsy so long that she no longer knew what to wear to a simple dinner in the country?
She hadn’t even reached the stairs before Garett came after her. “God, Mina, I didn’t mean—”
“It doesn’t matter, Garett. You have your dinner with Lord Hampden. I’ll be fine.”
“No, you don’t understand.” For the first time since she’d met him, Garett looked truly ill at ease. “There’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing, except that it’s… it’s…”
“Too common?”
His eyes dropped meaningfully to her bodice. “Too provocative.” At her frown, he added hastily, “I know it’s what all the ladies wear. By their standards it’s not even daring, but damn it, I can’t stand having Hampden see you looking so ravishing.”
The way he avoided her gaze said that he told the truth. Garett was jealous? And of Hampden, no less. She didn’t know whether to be thrilled or furious.
“Come back to dinner, sweetling,” he murmured. “Please. I wouldn’t have you miss dinner just because I… I made a foolish blunder.”
Two surprises in one night, she thought, blessing Hampden for having come to visit. Garett was jealous and he’d admitted to a blunder. Well, the least she could do was show him she appreciated his truthfulness.
“Fine,” she said with a regal air.
He relaxed and, with a cordiality she seldom saw, escorted her back into the room.
Hampden waited for them, looking amused. After Garett seated her and the two men sat, Hampden said, “I’m glad my surly friend here convinced you to return. Dinner would have been dreadfully dull with only the old bear there for company.”
Marianne glanced at Garett, who struggled to keep his face expressionless. Lifting her glass of wine, she fell in with Hampden’s teasing. “Lord Falkham’s not so awful. But if you want scintillating dinner conversation, don’t ask him about his estate improvements. Not unless talk about crops interests you.”
Garett lifted one eyebrow. “I’m sure Mina would prefer to talk about her father.”
Why couldn’t he ever let up? She forced back a sharp retort, sipping her wine to give her time to think. “Actually, my lord, I’m far more interested in how you and Lord Hampden met.”
There. A safe topic. The two men could reminisce, and she wouldn’t have to worry about parrying Garett’s verbal thrusts in front of a stranger.
Hampden gleefully took up the gauntlet. “We met in a stable. You’d never know it now to look at him, pigeon, but our friend Falkham was once a stable boy.”
She eyed him uncertainly. “You’re not serious.”
“Very much so. He and I both were stable boys. In France. We worked for a dreadful old count who enjoyed having two English lords in his employ.”
Garett, a stable boy in France? “Why?”
“Why did we work for the count, or why were we in France?” Hampden asked.
“Why were you stable boys?”
“Oh. Couldn’t do much else. When we first arrived, Falkham was only fourteen, and I sixteen. We weren’t the only English nobility there, you must realize, and not a soul wanted us.”
“But what about the king?” Marianne asked. “Surely he championed you. Surely he helped his countrymen.”
Hampden smiled mirthlessly. “Ask Falkham about the king.”
Marianne’s gaze flew to Garett.
Garett drank some wine. “The king was as destitute as we were. He could scarcely keep food on his own table, much less help us fill our bellies.”
“But they told us—”
“Cromwell and his men?” Bitterness crept into Garett’s voice. “What else were they to say? The Roundheads preferred to let the English think that their king lived richly in France, when in truth, he went from acquaintance to acquaintance, gathering what help he could, always trying to find someone to help him finance another uprising. His Majesty gave us his friendship, but he could give us little more.”
“When the king left France, Garett joined the Duke of York’s army,” Hampden put in.
“Yes.” Garett turned somber again.
Marianne suddenly wished the conversation hadn’t gone this direction.
Hampden wouldn’t let him sour the evening, however. “It wasn’t all bad in France. Remember Warwick, Falkham?”
Garett’s eyes lost their faraway look. “How could I forget? He stank of burned wool whenever it rained.”
“Still does, from what I hear.” Hampden turned his gaze to Marianne. “Warwick’s coat caught fire one day. We put it out, but the edges were still charred. Warwick had as little money as the rest of us, so he cut off the charred parts and continued to wear the coat.”
Hampden chuckled, but Marianne couldn’t join him. She found the story more sad than funny.
“Don’t worry, the man didn’t suffer during the winter,” Garett said, correctly guessing the source of her concern. “He kept as warm as any of us. If anything, we were the ones to suffer from smelling his smoky coat. We used to say, ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s Warwick.’ ”
Hampden joined Garett’s laughter, and after a moment, so did Marianne.
“There was little enough to laugh about in those days,” Hampden said, sobering. “The count and Garett’s uncle saw to that.”
“Sir Pitney?” she asked. But Sir Pitney had been in England, unaware of Garett’s existence.
Hampden cast Garett a penetrating glance. “You didn’t tell her about the letters, about the man Tearle sent to kill you?”
Garett shrugged. “I’m sure she knows.”
“How could I?” She turned to Hampden. “Sir Pitney knew that Garett lived?”
The marquess grew grim. “Perhaps not at first, for apparently a servant boy accompanying Garett’s parents and killed with them was mistaken for Garett and buried as the Falkham heir. It’s the only reason Garett escaped death himself.”
“You were there?” she asked Garett. “But… but…”
“Why do you think the soldiers assumed I was dead?” His expression was tormented. “My parents were taking me with them to Worcester. We stopped for a rest, and Will, Father’s valet, took me into the woods so I could relieve myself. We heard the shouts and ran back, but they were already lying gutted…”
His voice had grown choked, so Ha
mpden jumped in. “Will dragged him, struggling, back into the woods. It saved both their lives. Cromwell’s men left no one breathing, not even the footman who wore Garett’s old clothes.” Hampden’s voice hardened. “That’s why everyone believed Garett dead. But his uncle found out otherwise eventually. Garett sent him four or five letters with proof of his identity. Sir Pitney ignored them.”
She was already reeling from the horrifying picture Hampden had painted of a young Garett watching his parents die, but this— “That’s appalling!”
“Not as appalling as what happened later.” Hampden cast Garett a furtive glance. “One day a man came looking for Garett, with a sword in hand and a thirst for blood. Fortunately, he found me instead, and I was armed and more than able to defend myself.” He smiled. “I’m afraid Sir Pitney’s man didn’t return to England.”
At Garett’s now determinedly aloof air, Hampden quipped, “And the count complained because I’d dirtied his floors.”
Marianne felt all at sea. Why hadn’t Garett told her all this? No, she knew why. His stubborn pride made him think he shouldn’t have to explain himself to anyone.
“Tell me about this count,” Marianne urged. It suddenly seemed important to learn the whole truth of why Garett had returned from exile an embittered man.
“Ah… the count,” Garett said, breaking a slice of toast in half with a loud snap.
“The count was the only man to truly make me hate the French,” Hampden said. “I’m sure Falkham agrees, since he tormented Falkham more than he did me. He hated Falkham. Used to call him ‘le petit diable.’ ”
Marianne could easily understand how Garett might have gained that nickname. “At least he enabled the two of you to fend for yourselves. Without him, you said you might not have found work.”
“I’m not sure that would have been so awful.” Garett sipped some wine. “We might have been better off begging in the streets of Paris.”
Hampden chuckled. “True. After the beatings the old man gave us, ’twas a miracle we lived to manhood.”
Having suddenly lost her appetite, Marianne put down the spoon she’d been about to lift to her lips. “Beatings?”
“Actually,” Hampden said, “mine weren’t as bad as Falkham’s.”
By Love Unveiled Page 13