Miss Mischief - A Regency Romance (6 page)

‘I don’t mean that. I mean those ridiculous footpads. I daresay Hugo arranged for them to be there.’

Marcus stopped and turned to stare at her. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Indeed,’ she said calmly. ‘It would be just the sort of stupid thing he would do. Arrange to have me robbed by some hired thugs and then appear just in time to save me. He must have been dreadfully annoyed to see
you
,’ she added thoughtfully.

He eyed her incredulously. ‘That young man – that imbecile – arranged the whole thing? But why?’

‘To impress me,’ she said coolly. ‘It is rather the thing for the young men in the neighborhood to go out of their way to impress me. Hugo, for all that he isn’t particularly clever, has quite a good imagination and a great deal of money. He probably got the idea out of one of his sister’s novels.’

‘Good God,’ Marcus said blankly, then, ‘I can’t believe anybody could be so… so…’

‘Stupid? You did see him, didn’t you?’

Turning, they began to walk forward again. ‘Does this kind of thing happen often?’

‘No, thank heaven. Mostly they just write poetry or try to serenade me beneath my window – that’s Mr. James Esk, incidentally. He’s musical although not very, in my opinion. They did fight a duel in my honor, I believe, but Lord Duffy – Percy Duffy’s father, you know – found out and put a stop to it. Not that anything would have come of it,’ she added absently, ‘unless they accidentally cut themselves on their swords. They are not very good swordsmen but I suppose an accident was always possible.’

Marcus was silent for a moment. It sounded to him as if he had stumbled into an asylum. ‘It all sounds quite mad,’ he confessed, thoroughly bemused.

‘Well it is, rather. But it’s not always this bad. Mostly they are up at Eton or Cambridge but it’s holiday time and I suppose they get bored, being at home. And all of them fancy themselves hopelessly in love with me so what better way to pass the time than to try and get my attention as best they may?’

This was uttered without any noticeable conceit. In fact, it was more that she was uttering an incontrovertible fact. He took in the fresh, dewy loveliness of the face beside him and decided that yes, it probably was entirely true. If the local families had young sons of an impressionable age, they were sure to be spellbound with the girl beside him. She had the kind of looks that would make most men stop in their tracks.

‘I am assuming your father is a local landowner -’

‘Sir Antony Claybourn. And I am Johanna Claybourn.’ The introduction came with a dimpled smile.

The name meant absolutely nothing to him. He did not have any family in Yorkshire and he could not recall meeting anybody with any such name in town. Still, he bowed in acknowledgement of the introduction. ‘How charming to meet you, Miss Claybourn.’

The girl eyed him thoughtfully. ‘You’re a gentleman,’ she observed. ‘I supposed you were, of course. It was good of you to come to my aid.’

‘As a gentleman, I could hardly do anything else,’ he pointed out wryly.

‘At first glance, I might not have taken you for one. You don’t
look
very much like one, if you will pardon me for saying so. You are quite… well, grubby seems to be the best way to describe you.’

Alas, it was true. He had set off from
The Black Bull
before eight but had stopped along the way thinking that Hermes had picked up a stone. It had rained the night before and his boot had slipped from beneath him as he was pulling his horse’s hoof up, which had seen him encounter rather more mud upon his person than he usually cared to carry about. He intended to seek out a bath at the next hostelry. Actually, they made quite the pair, he with his travel stained clothes and she with her muddied skirts.

‘Mud gives a man character, I always think.’

She eyed him in surprise. ‘Do you? What a peculiar thing. Why would you think that?’

‘It connects one to the earth,’ he replied gravely.

‘I think you must be quite mad,’ she decided. ‘Like Mr. Smeadley at Maudsley Grange. He is frightfully clever but I can never understand anything he says. I do not
think
I am unintelligent,’ she added, pursing her lips, ‘but Mr. Smeadley is awfully hard going if one happens to be sitting next to him at dinner. Grandma says he is daft but she would, rather. She doesn’t hold with books, much. Oh!’ This exclamation was not directed so much at him as it was for Hermes. She had stopped abruptly having caught sight of him and eyed the big roan with obvious admiration. ‘What a beauty! May I truly ride him?’

‘If you can secure a safe purchase without a side saddle,’ he agreed. ‘I think it would be more comfortable for you than walking home.’

‘He is lovely!’ she murmured, moving forward, hand extended. Hermes gave a soft nicker of greeting and she smiled, running her hand down his elegant neck. Being a gentleman himself, he accepted her caress without demur. In fact, he was clearly charmed by the girl’s caresses.

‘Come along. I will help you up.’

Lifting her into the saddle, she managed to balance herself without difficulty by grasping the pommel. Hermes was a big lad, easily as large as the grey stallion belonging to the ineffectual Hugo but the two horses could not have been more different. It helped that the girl was not in the least bit nervous. Her skirts were a cursed nuisance, of course and the wet material flapped at his face, no doubt adding another interesting layer of mud to an area that had so far managed to avoid it. He wiped it as best he could, one hand holding her steady until he could be sure she was secure.

‘All right?’

‘Perfectly, thank you.’

‘Excellent.’ Taking the reins, he led Hermes back out onto the road. It wasn’t until they had gone along a little way that she spoke again.

‘Do you know, in the excitement, I never asked your name.’

‘An oversight on my part,’ he agreed. ‘My name is Marcus.’ He did not feel inclined to announce his full title. Adding a lord to a moniker usually prompted all manner of unwelcome discussion; family names, local counties, mutual acquaintances all immediately came into the mix. It had happened only twice along the road – he had not mingled overly much with the gentry – and it usually ended with an uncomfortable conversation he did not wish to pursue. Far too many people seemed to know of the unfortunate demise of Lord Gideon Hathaway and the circumstances surrounding it and while he might be reasonably certain that his history would not have traveled all the way to Yorkshire, one never knew. He wished to avoid
that
kind of discussion. When others did realize who he was, the conversation invariably became awkward for there was nothing like sudden, scandalous death and the disappearance of the family fortune to make a fellow peer shift about uncomfortably. In the end it was just easier to avoid such exchanges all together.

‘I am assuming that is a first name,’ his companion commented. ‘Are you in possession of a last name?’

‘Hathaway,’ he returned reluctantly.

‘Hathaway. I will allow, it is a perfectly reasonable name.’ There came a meditative pause. ‘You are not from around here.’

It was a statement. He did not doubt that Miss Claybourn was well acquainted with the entire neighborhood. ‘I am not. I am merely passing through.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Oh, here and there. Seeing the sights, so to speak.’

‘What sights?’

‘Anything I care to see. I’m off to the coast.’

‘And what are you going to do there?’

‘I confess, I have not made up my mind yet. I suppose I shall see when I get there.’

He had kept his eyes ahead but he could almost feel her curiosity beating against his back. Admittedly, his responses had been more provocative than satisfactory in terms of information but as he was merely doing her a courtesy in returning her home, he did not feel inclined to offer anything more. It wasn’t that he wished to keep his past a secret, precisely, but he didn’t want to discuss it, either. Besides, he was sensing that Miss Johanna Claybourn was the kind of girl who took an unhealthy interest in the affairs of others. He might have been wrong about it but he sensed that she would not be content to be fobbed off, once she was on the scent. And, enchanting creature that she was, he had no desire to have her take an interest in
him
.

‘I think that sounds quite fascinating,’ she decided, having thought this over. ‘It must be nice to just travel where you will and please yourself. Is it nice?’

‘It’s entirely delightful.’

‘There you are, then. I have never seen the point of always doing things for a reason. How lovely to throw all of that aside.’ She sounded very enthusiastic and he grinned to himself. Was Miss Claybourn a little bored with her lot in life? Surely she was too young to sound so jaded and yet it seemed to be the case. Having three spirited sisters, he had observed firsthand how tedious Society made it for them to do anything. They were far more hemmed in with rules and regulations than was any male. Millie, in particular, chaffed at the constrictions she already suffered and she was not yet out of the schoolroom.

‘It is certainly enjoyable,’ he said cheerfully, ‘even if I do end up looking like a gypsy.’

‘I should imagine that is quite convenient as well,’ she murmured and now there was definitely a wistful note in her voice.

‘You seem to have plenty of adventures of your own.’

‘Oh, that. They’re not real adventures though. Hugo hiring some men to try and rob me might be amusing, but it isn’t exactly the stuff of great romances.’

‘That was
amusing
? Dear heavens,’ he exclaimed, ‘surely you don’t want that sort of stuff happening to you? Adventures like that, they always sound very uncomfortable.’

‘It is,’ she said primly, but with an undercurrent of laughter in her voice, ‘edifying to meet a man who has read romances, Mr. Hathaway.’

He did not correct her on this incorrect appellation. It hardly mattered, after all. He would be gone before more formal introductions were necessary. Nor did he deny the dreadful accusation that he read romance; in a household primarily made up of females, there was hardly any choice in the matter of, if not actually reading romances, certainly hearing about them.

‘Nevertheless, Miss Claybourn, there is nothing particularly romantic about traveling the roads on horseback,’ he said, attempting to sound severe.

‘Then why do so?’

‘Restless feet.’

‘Why is that men can have restless feet but women cannot?’ she said, sounding rather plaintive. ‘If I suggested to Papa that I pack up a bandbox and set off for a week or two he would have an apoplexy.’

‘Only
one
bandbox?’ Marcus challenged. ‘Surely not.’

She gave a small spurt of laughter at this. ‘Oh how wretched of you! A girl does not have to have dozens of dresses you know.’

‘I do know,’ he agreed immediately. ‘It’s just that I have never met any female – well, apart from one, that is – who shared my viewpoint.’

‘Indeed? But you say you know of such a girl,’ she said quickly. ‘Who is this paragon?’

‘My sister, Millicent. Like you, she very much resents the fact that she is proscribed by her gender to explore. Only she is rather more vocal about it.’

‘She sounds very sensible.’

Marcus couldn’t stop a snort of laughter at this. ‘Now that is something I’m prepared to swear she has never been called before.’

It was, all in all, quite a pleasant journey. Miss Claybourn, who did not suffer from any noticeable shyness, chattered on in a very amusing manner. Now that he had been exposed to her lively humor he was even more certain that the young men hereabouts must be falling over themselves to impress. He was still taken aback by young Hugo’s extraordinary plan to win her favor but was impressed, despite his disapproval of the boy’s methods. The young fellow certainly planned on a grandiose scale. And certainly, Miss Claybourn had not seemed to be in the least put out, even taking her potentially dangerous tumble off her horse with a philosophical shrug.

Entertained as he was by the girl’s singularly artless conversation, the journey passed quickly. As a male he knew he would be lying to himself if he did not privately admit that he was a little captivated by her undeniable loveliness but it was her refreshing candor that made him think of her as being a complete original. It was as if she had never been taught that some things were simply not an appropriate subject of conversation, although her tales of her would be suitors’ exploits were extraordinarily amusing.