Ducal Encounters 03 - Portrait of a Duke (2 page)

“You can’t have a horse in your blood, Art. That’s stupid.”

“Aunt Nia says we have a real affection.” Leo shook his head. “No, that’s not right, but it was aff-something.”

Vince was endlessly amused by their ability to carry on a conversation in tandem, even when separated by the solidity of Vince’s body. The stallion the three of them were riding and which met with the lads’ approval, had been bred by Vince’s brother, Amos, at the stud he ran on Zach’s behalf at Winchester Park. Horses all but sat up and sang for Amos, but Vince disliked the idea of spoiling his young friends’ enthusiasm and so he remained silent on the point.

“An affinity?” he suggested in response to Leo’s dilemma.

“That’s right.” Art sniffed. “Not sure I like the idea of affinities, though.”

“I should say not,” Leo agreed.

“Right, here we are.” Vince halted Forrester at rusted gates that were firmly locked. He could see the grounds of the manor house beyond, overgrown and neglected: a haven for small boys to get into mischief. Perhaps the occupants didn’t think to bring any outdoor servants with them. Vince chuckled to himself. The Compton men would be glad that perhaps there was work to be had here after all. If that was the case, perhaps Art and Leo would be able to walk the streets in safety. Anything was possible if one possessed an optimistic nature. “But it seems our entrance is barred.”

“You can leave us here, sir.”

“It might be best if I took you inside,” Vince replied, his curiosity getting the better of him. “I need to speak with your mother.”

“You won’t tell that we were fighting, will you?” Leo appeared a little anxious at the prospect. “Aunt Nia will make the most frightful fuss.”

“She’s a girl,” Art explained helpfully. “She doesn’t understand these things.”

Vince eyed their bloodied and dishevelled state impassively. “I rather think she might take one look at you and work that much out for herself.”

“That’s true,” Art conceded, screwing up his nose. “What a nuisance. Aunt Nia is always fussing about our clothes.”

“And she did tell us most particularly to stay clean this morning.”

“It’s not our fault Ruff got out.”

“We had to go after him. She would have been that upset if he got lost.”

“She loves that dog.”

Fearful that the conversation would continue forever unless he intervened, Vince cleared his throat to gain their attention. “How did you get out of the grounds?” he asked.

“That way.”

Leo pointed to a small side gate almost hidden by the undergrowth. The track was just wide enough for a man on a horse, or for a narrow gig, to pass along it. The thick bed of bluebells underfoot had been flattened by hooves and wheels, thus confirming his suspicions. Art, with the dog still beneath his arm, slid down from behind and opened the gate. The dog raced ahead through a jungle of greenery created by close-packed trees with branches that meshed overhead. Art ran after him, gangly limbs flying at all angles. Vince, with his remaining passenger, followed along at a more sedate pace.

“Ruff, boys, where are you?” called a feminine voice that sounded irritated. “It’s past time to come in.”

“Oh lord,” Leo muttered. “Now we’re for it.”

As they got closer to the front of the house, the bluebells gave way to neglected gravel interspersed with muddy puddles and sprouting weeds that strangled struggling shrubs. The female calling for the boys came into view, standing on the edge of an equally neglected terrace with cracked paving and a crumbling stone balustrade. At the boy’s mention of their Irish heritage, Vince had thought the rumours about Trafford having taken this place were most likely true. He was interested in art and would be glad to have such a talented neighbour, even if he did indeed prove to have an artist’s taciturn and unsociable disposition.

Now that he saw the state of the place, and its relatively small size, he decided it couldn’t possibly be Trafford who had taken it. He was reputed to be richer than the Prince Regent—which admittedly wasn’t saying much since everyone knew the prince made an art form out of living beyond his means. But even if Trafford had decided to settle in such a quiet backwater, surely he would take a larger property, or at the very least, arrange to have this one repaired before taking occupation?

As he rounded the final turn in the path, he got his first proper view of the woman and almost lost his balance. The sight of such an individual female in this unlikely location was as welcome as it was unexpected. He had spent the entire season dodging the match-making mamas and their equally determined daughters, none of whom had engaged his interest. This creature, on the other hand, already had his complete attention, although he wasn’t entirely sure what it was about her that interested him. He halted Forrester and observed her for a moment or so, wondering at his extreme reaction to a woman he knew absolutely nothing about.

The boys kept referring to their aunt, and presumably this was she, since she didn’t look old enough to be their mother. She, too, had an abundance of chestnut curls, held back by a ribbon from which they appeared determined to escape and cascade insubordinately over her shoulders. She wore a green striped muslin morning gown with a high military collar—a style his sister Annalise had adopted more than three years previously but probably wouldn’t be seen dead in today since it was no longer fashionable. Its wearer was irritated and the muslin swirled around her tall, lean body as she paced back and forth, giving Vince a graphic view of the rather enticing curves beneath it.

“Here we are, Aunt Nia,” Leo said, sliding over Forrester’s withers and running up to her at the same time as Art. So much for Leo’s incapacity, Vince thought with a wry smile. His knee
was
swollen but if Leo felt any discomfort, one would not know it by looking at him.

“Where the devil have you been? I’ve been calling you this half hour.”

“Sorry, but we—”

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, appearing to notice Vince for the first time and stiffening. “This is private property. I must ask you to leave.”

Vince did not leave. Instead, he dismounted and approached her. At close quarters he observed that her eyes, almost too large for the delicate face that housed them, were greener than her gown. They also showed signs of considerable strain, and she seemed tired and preoccupied. Her features were attractive rather than beautiful, freckles dotted the bridge of her pert nose and her slightly jutting cheekbones were pink with annoyance. Whether at him or the boys was less easily determined. She scowled at her charges, slight horizontal lines forming on her forehead as she did so.

“This gentlemen brought us home,” Art said.

“We had to run after Ruff.”

“He got out, you see, and you told us most particularly to keep him in the garden.”

“And the boys in the village, they—”

“He stole some sausages from the butcher’s cart, and—”

“Ruff?” She fixed the dog with an exasperated expression. The dog responded by dropping to his belly and squirming away from her. Vince couldn’t help it. He laughed aloud. The hound was nothing if not precocious. His amusement communicated itself to the lady and her scowl gave way to a reluctant smile. “I shall deal with you later,” she said, wagging a finger at the canine offender.

“This gentleman paid the butcher—”

“We wanted to say we were sorry, and that you would—”

“But they didn’t give us a chance to—”

“Boys, boys!” She held up her hands, and shook her head. “I beg your pardon, sir. I can see they have been scrapping again, and I have you to thank for returning them in one piece.” She screwed up her nose as she contemplated them. “More or less.”

“It wasn’t our fault, Aunt Nia,” Art protested.

“The pleasure was all mine,” Vince quickly interjected, before the boys’ tongues ran off on another of their dual explanations that could keep them standing on this crumbling terrace for the next ten minutes. “Vincent Sheridan at your service.” He offered her an effortless bow and the ghost of a wicked smile because…well, because his mind had been taken over by highly inappropriate thoughts, the moment he set eyes on her.

Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth, which is when Vince noticed what appeared to be paint encrusted beneath her fingernails.

“Lord Vincent Sheridan?” she asked.

“The very same.”

Nia took a moment to recover her composure. This was a disaster! She had told the boys to remain within the grounds because they were in no fit state to entertain visitors; especially those of Lord Vincent’s stature. Since he had gone to so much trouble on the boys’ behalf he would naturally expect to be invited into the house and offered refreshment, but she would die before she allowed him to see the state of their living conditions. The grounds and the shabby exterior of the building gave a bad enough impression. Oh lord, why could not the boys have done as they were told, just this once?

Nia had heard talk of the four Sheridan brothers; their eligibility and good looks. Indeed, when suggesting this area might be just the place for Nia’s family to settle quietly, her friend Frankie St. John had warned her what to expect when her path crossed with that of her elegant neighbours, as eventually it was bound to. She had not exaggerated. Lord Vincent was at least six feet tall, with thick black hair falling across the collar of his fashionably cut coat. A coat that was now caked in mud, thanks to her rebellious nephews’ propensity for finding trouble—or creating it. Much as she loved them, she was not blind to their faults.

Returning her attention to Lord Vincent, Nia decided that if he had noticed the blight upon his pristine tailoring, he did not seem unduly concerned about it. Well, she supposed he had his own valet, ready and waiting to clean up his apparel, so why
would
it trouble him?

He observed the world through eyes that were a deep, arresting blue. They sparkled with unsettling intelligence and, if she was any judge, a modicum of cynical enjoyment. His rugged features were all planes and angles, enhanced by a chiselled jaw and straight aristocratic nose. His body appeared to be a solid wall of muscle. Well, of course it was! He was disturbingly poised, damn him, while she was a bundle of uncertainty. He exuded easy charm and yet there was an aura of danger and excitement about him, too. It would be unwise to cross him, Nia instinctively understood, but then she supposed a man with his riches and connections could, unlike her, afford to stand on his principles.

“Oh…, Niamh Trafford,” she responded belatedly, bobbing a curtsey and blushing when she realised she had been staring at him with reluctant appreciation for a little too long. Worse, he appeared to be well aware of it—was probably used to such a reaction from devoted females—if the amused smile playing about his lips was anything to go by. Nia so disliked being predictable, and certainly didn’t have time to waste gawping at handsome strangers. “And these are my nephews Leonard and Arthur.”

“We’re twins,” Art piped up.

“But I’m older, by ten minutes,” Leo added proudly.

“We’re eight.”

“Eight and a half.”

“Are you really a lord?” Art asked, peering up at Lord Vincent suspiciously.

“Art!” Nia was horrified at his manners, or lack of them. “Excuse him, if you can, my lord. He knows better than that.”

“It’s of no consequence.”

“How badly are you hurt this time?” Nia asked, crouching down to examine Leo’s knee. She removed the handkerchief binding it, conscious that it was made of fine lawn linen, now caked with dried blood.

“It will need washing and bandaging,” Lord Vincent remarked. “But no permanent damage has been done.”

“Only to your handkerchief,” Nia replied with a wry smile.

“That doesn’t matter in the least.”

No, Nia thought, she didn’t suppose that it did. Why she was so determined to be out of charity with him when he had rescued the boys, returned them home and was behaving with great charm and chivalry, was a mystery to her. Perhaps it was the way that he had so effortlessly handled what could have been a very awkward situation that riled her. Or because he had caught her at a disadvantage. She had hoped to avoid meeting her neighbours at all, especially the Sheridans, by keeping her grandfather’s identity a secret. She could see now that she had been hopelessly naïve, but still…

Satisfied that Leo’s injury was indeed not life threatening, she shook her head and turned her attention to Art. She brushed the hair away from his forehead, shook her head for a second time when she observed he had one eye swollen half shut, and tutted.

“Run off and find Hannah,” Nia told them. “Ask her to clean you up and bandage your injuries, and put you into clean clothes. No, on second thoughts, don’t worry about the clothes.” The boys looked very pleased to hear it. “We can delay our outing until tomorrow since it’s almost time for luncheon. I see no reason for you to dirty a second set of clothes in one day.”

“We don’t do it on purpose,” Leo said.

“It wasn’t our fault.”

“No,” Nia said with a heartfelt sigh. “It never is.”

“Don’t forget we have horses in our blood,” Art said, addressing his comment to Lord Vincent. “We can help you with your stallion at any time.”

“You are very kind,” Lord Vincent replied gravely.

“Oh, it’s no trouble.”

“Unlike the two of them,” Nia said, unable to suppress a smile as she watched them charge off into the house, pushing at one another in order to be the first to tell Hannah of their adventures, no doubt.

“Do they do everything at a breakneck pace?”

“Pretty much.” Nia chanced a glance up at him. “Were you not the same as a boy? No, I don’t suppose you were,” she added, not giving him the opportunity to respond. “Your upbringing would have been worlds apart from theirs.”

“Not in the least.” He waved a negligent hand towards the unkempt grounds. “My brothers and I would have been in seventh heaven if we had found ourselves here at Leo and Art’s age. We would have climbed trees and fallen out of them, naturally. Built dens, had battles, fought one another…all of the things that your nephews so enjoy.” He shrugged impossibly broad shoulders and treated her to an engaging smile, flashing even white teeth for her inspection. “It’s simply the way of boys everywhere.”