Karla Darcy - [Sweet Deception Regency 04] (2 page)

Bristling at the implied criticism, Leslie hurried to Manji's defense. "He's really wizard on horseback, your Grace."

"Give over, lad. I'm not doubting your word." Pax smiled affectionately at the boy, pleased when the youngster returned the gesture.

"Well, anyways, my father found Manji on the waterfront. He was sick with a putrid fever, but we soon put him to rights." There was a note of pride in the boy's high-pitched voice. "Manji was ever so handy when we were coming out of India. Speaks a lot of languages. His mother was an Indian prostitute, and his father was a Mongolian whoremaster."

Pax coughed to cover his startled gasp at the blunt words spoken so nonchalantly by the ten-year-old. Good God! What kind of a life had the child led? Pax wondered in horror. Looking across the desk at the placid expression in the clear blue eyes, he realized with a shock that the boy had little understanding of the words he used so casually. He was obviously parroting phrases, without any awareness of their meaning. Pax realized that he would have to see to the repair of some of the more exotic characteristics of the youngster.

"It's what's to be done with you now, lad, that concerns me. Your solicitor," Pax glanced down at the topmost paper, "Edwin Mulgravy, obviously was not aware of my father's death. As it is of course, I am your new guardian. Well, Leslie, would you like to stay on here at Windhaven?"

"I've never really had a proper home, your Grace," the boy blurted out. "At least not like this place." In awe Leslie's eyes traversed the library, taking in the splendor of the furnishings.

If Paxton expected an immediate and joyful acceptance, he was destined for disappointment. Leslie's eyes returned to Pax's face, and he stared at the duke as though taking inventory. Pax waited patiently as the child weighed the situation. After several minutes Leslie nodded in satisfaction and a wide grin broke out, giving an extra shine to the devilish glint in the blue eyes.

"If it wouldn't be a bother, your Grace, I'd really like to live here!" Then a frown crossed the youngster's face, and he tempered his enthusiasm. "Jacko and Manji could stay, sir, couldn't they? If it's a matter of money, my solicitor told me I had plenty of the ready. Jacko could look after my clothes, and there's nothing Manji doesn't know about horses." Leslie's expression was earnest as he defended his friends. "Father trusted Manji with the care of Raven and other than himself, and of course me, no one was allowed to go near the stallion, especially when the mares were in heat."

"I see," Pax said quickly before the boy could elucidate further. Nodding to the anxious boy, Pax continued. "Jacko could serve as your valet. As for Manji, I can always use a good man in the stables."

Relief, that he and his friends would remain together, lit up the boy's face. Turning to his companions, Leslie translated the previous discussion into what appeared to be a mixture of a native Indian patois and the more formal Urdu. Staring at the unlikely threesome, Pax was struck by the maturity of the smaller figure. Orphaned three months earlier, stranded in some outpost of India, Leslie and his unlikely companions had traveled to England only to find that the boy's guardian was dead. Older shoulders would have bowed under lesser tragedies. Lost in his own thoughts, it was several minutes before Pax realized that the low-voiced discussion had turned into an acrimonious debate. Manji's thunderous voice broke through his reverie.

Glancing across his desk at the combatants, Pax immediately took in the fact that neither of the men appeared pleased by the boy's news: Manji was angry and Jacko appeared thunderstruck. The plucky lad, eyes flashing blue fire, stood his ground, replying in terse sentences to the giant's rapid questions. Jacko interjected a fierce explanation that continued for some length. Finally the boy drew himself up, and, with an abrupt chopping motion of his hand, cut through the flurry of argument and silenced the older men. He spoke several more sentences then turned back toward Paxton.

"Beg pardon, your Grace. I realize it's impolite, but Manji doesn't understand English perfectly. We've sort of worked out our own way of talking," Leslie apologized.

"I gathered as much," Pax commented dryly.

Pax glanced up to meet the narrow-eyed gazes of the giant and the gnome. Although the older men's faces were etched in disapproval of the situation, they apparently had agreed to abide by the boy's decision. Manji supposedly spoke no English, but Pax noted the intelligence in the man's eyes and suspected that he had understood every word. Devoted, loyal and protective, the eccentric duo might be the perfect ones to keep the youngster out of trouble. Especially if he himself should return to the Peninsula. Temporarily satisfied, Pax reached for the bell pull, then walked around the desk.

"Welcome to Windhaven, Leslie," Pax said, warmly extending his hand to the grinning boy.

After handing the threesome over to the care of his astonished housekeeper, Pax returned to his desk chair, staring thoughtfully into space. He felt an immediate kinship with Leslie, due to his own circumstances. Pax had been home on leave from the army, when his father had been killed. Since the Duke's death, Pax's life had been a jumble of estate matters, endless paperwork and a constant flow of visitors wanting to convey sympathy or to ask favors. Now another responsibility had burst into his life in the form of Sir Leslie Lathrup and his extraordinary servants. Tutors could smooth out the earlier educational deficiencies of the boy, Pax reasoned, and he would see to the proper outfitting of the child. He shook his head to clear his mind, plunging back to the never-ending paperwork on his desk.

"The sooner you get back to the fighting," Pax mumbled to himself, "the sooner everything will sort itself out."

Leslie trudged tiredly after Mrs. Tomlinson, grateful when the woman finally stopped outside a beautifully carved oak doorway. With a decided air of ceremony, she threw open the door to reveal a large bedroom filled with graceful Chippendale furniture. The bed hangings and draperies were a light green brocaded material that blended with the blues and golds in the ancient Oriental rug on the floor. The room fairly gleamed with cleanliness.

"Look, Jacko! I hope Manji's set up as good as this. It's a bit of heaven." Leslie stared around excitedly. "Is this really going to be my room, Mrs. Tomlinson?"

"The Duke said so, and what he says always is done. He said as how you would be living here now. It's glad I am of that. Looks as though you could do with a little taking care of. Some of Windhaven's good food will put some flesh on those bones." The plump little woman surveyed the nervous boy with a militant gleam in her eye. Leslie wondered if the housekeeper contemplated forcefeeding. "Tis a grand room. Gets plenty of morning sun and you can look across the gardens clear to the lake." Then lowering her soft voice further, Mrs. Tomlinson whispered, "Cromwell himself once slept in this very room."

"God's truth, ma'am?" Leslie's eyes widened at the woman's satisfied nod.

"The Duke said for me to send up a bath and to ask you if you have other clothes with you," Mrs. Tomlinson asked kindly. "If not, I'm sure we can find something suitable.

Leslie shifted uncomfortably and cast a worried look in Jacko's direction, but taking in his barely contained anger, quickly glanced back at the housekeeper. Leslie smiled nervously at the woman. "Unfortunately, ma'am, most of what I brought with me looks about the same. I'd be truly grateful if you could find me something that wouldn't shame me in front of my new guardian."

The honest response of the boy won Mrs. Tomlinson over completely. As she would report to Cook over tea, Master Leslie might not look quite like gentry, but he had the charm of a true peer of the realm.

After the housekeeper left, Leslie slowly investigated the rooms allotted to them. Besides the bedroom there was a cozy sitting room and a dressing room large enough to accommodate the glowering Jacko.

"I think we're going to like it here," Leslie enthused.

"Think what you're doing," snapped the old man. "Think what your father would say."

"The Captain's not here now," Leslie said, face falling into sober lines. "Besides, where would we go if not here?"

"We can't stay," Jacko stated uncompromisingly.

Any further comments were forestalled by the arrival of the bath water. Blue eyes alight with pleasure, Leslie watched as an iron tub was filled with hot water. As the footmen left, the small figure leaned over the tub, eyes closed in ecstasy, breathing in the invigorating steam.

"Ahh, Jacko. How I've missed being clean all over."

"While you're soaking in that thing, I'll be thinkin' of what's to be done. Like it or not, young lady---"

"Don't call me that," Leslie hissed.

"You'll have to face it sometime, Leslie. Manji and I felt you would be safer while we were travelin' lookin' like a lad. But you're safe in England now and it's time you gave up the play acting."

"I won't! I hate being a girl!"

"You don't even know what it's like, child," the old man stated in disgust.

"Please, Jacko. I can do it. The Duke will never know the difference."

"The Captain should have never let you run wild the way he did. Manji and I done what we could to protect you but now you're safe in England and things are different. You're fourteen years old. Your own body will give you away afore long."

"Please, Jacko. I want to stay."

The old man's heart was not hard enough to withstand the pleading tone in the young girl's voice. "All right, Leslie. We'll stay for a few days until we can decide what's to be done," Jacko said, noting the lines of strain on the face of the forlorn little figure. He sighed heavily as he laid out towels and suspiciously eyed the pile of clothes sent by the housekeeper. "Don't know where she got these. They're not first quality, but they'll do for now. Mind, don't spend too long in that water. Can't be good for a body all that wetting."

Jacko stood at the entrance to the dressing room. His eyes kindled with warmth as he looked back at the young girl removing the ancient hunting jacket. It was a bloody shame that Captain Philip couldn't have lived to see his daughter now. He'd have been right proud of Leslie. An unaccustomed mist formed in Jacko's eyes and he brusquely blinked it away. "Bathin's a heathen custom, iffen you ask me. Which you won't, bein' as stubborn as your father," the old man sniffed as he bustled out of the room.

Heart sinking, Leslie frowned at the quietly closing door. Jacko was doubtless correct. Her blue eyes clouded with sudden tears as the realization of the sheer folly of staying at Windhaven broke through.

"But I want to stay," Leslie whispered, wearily sinking onto the bed.

In all her life she had never had a home. Not a real one, she thought sadly. Her father had taken her with him to each of his temporary outposts in India, trusting her to Jacko and Manji and a succession of cheerful, though impermanent, amahs. There had never been anything stable in her life, only a series of colorful army posts and native villages.

But the moment she had entered Windhaven, she felt she had come home. The estate smelled of stability. It was solid, withstanding time. Earlier, as she had looked across the desk at Pax, she had known she wanted to stay. She wanted to be a part of Windhaven.

Leslie tore at her travel-grimed clothes, hands shaking with a combination of exhaustion and mental anguish. She kicked at the offending items as she stalked across the room to the mirror. Defiantly she lifted a tear-smudged face to her reflection. The naked girl stared back belligerently, determined to prove her ability to play the part of a ten-year-old boy.

Leslie Kathryn Julianne Lathrup was short for a girl of fourteen and still had the curveless build of a young man. She turned sideways, for once proud of the fact that her bosom showed no signs of development. Since most girls of her age already had breasts, Leslie decided her figure would not change much in the next few years. Turning around she looked back over her shoulder studying her hipless figure and skinny legs. Once more Leslie faced the mirror. She raked her hands through her rumpled curls, twisting the hair tightly behind her neck. Striking an arrogant pose, she stared triumphantly at her reflection.

"I can do it," she announced to the boyish figure in the mirror.

She scampered across to the tub but, about to climb in, whirled to the pile of clothes on the floor. She grasped the hunting jacket and tore at the material for the paper hidden beneath the lining. Taking out her birth records, she folded them carefully and searched the room for a hiding place. Her tattered portmanteau stood beside the bed and she rummaged within for the music box she never let far out of her sight. It was one of the rare presents that her father had given her. She gently touched the tiny fawns, carved of rosewood, that dotted the top. She turned one of the little figures and a drawer opened in the bottom of the box. Carefully she inserted her birth papers and snapped the drawer shut, placing it on the table beside her bed. A puckish grin lit her face, and she winked at her reflection in the mirror across the room.

"I swear by God's holy teeth, the Duke of Ruhaven will be proud of his new ward." Her voice was a deep contented purr as she slid into the warm security of the bathwater. "Welcome home, Sir Leslie Lathrup."

Chapter Two

April, 1816

"Devil take it, but it's good to be home again." Paxton Rutherford, sixth Duke of Ruhaven, spoke aloud as he stared out the window across the peaceful parkland to the wilder woods beyond. Five long years fighting the French. He flexed his arm, grateful as always that his battle injuries had been light compared to those of others. He had lost two good friends at Waterloo, and a legion of comrades before that.

Dispiritedly, Pax sat down at his desk and clasped his hands behind his head as he contemplated the frescoed ceiling in the quiet of the library. He had threatened dire consequences if Winters permitted anyone to disturb him. The much put-upon butler had sworn he would die before divulging the Duke's whereabouts.