Mistress of the Hunt (22 page)

“He’s a man, ain’t ’e? T’ain’t fittin’ fer a woman t’ be dealin’ wi’ what don’t concern ’er. Woman bends t’ man, m’lady. That be the way of it.”

“Well, I shan’t bend to you, for heaven’s sake,” Philippa said, stepping back, then crying out in alarm as his thick fingers closed around her arm. “Here, let go of me! Who do you think you are? Oh, thank goodness!”

A strong hand grabbed Giles by the shoulder from behind and swung him around. A second hand, balled into a fist, connected sharply with the point of his jaw, and Mr. Giles went down like a felled oak tree at Rochford’s feet.

R
UBBING HIS BRUISED KNUCKLES, THE
viscount eyed Philippa sternly. “Goodness had nothing to do with this, my girl. I’ve been wanting to smash something for days.” He reached down to help the groggy Giles to his feet.

The farmer glared at him sullenly but measuringly as well.

“Yes, I know you’d like nothing better than to plant me a leveler,” Rochford said grimly, “but I wouldn’t advise you to try it. Though you may not believe me, I am on your side in this business, and you may thank heaven for it, since that is the only reason you are getting out of this with no more than a sore chin. If you’re wise, you’ll take yourself off before I change my mind.”

Philippa said nothing until, with no comment beyond a surly shrug, Giles had gone. Despite the rush of relief she had experienced upon seeing her rescuer, she wasn’t by any means certain that she was safer with him than she had been with Tom Giles. Her first inclination had been to fling herself onto Rochford’s broad chest and allow him to hold her very tightly, but the glitter of anger in his eyes when he looked at her stopped her cold. Now she wanted only to get back to the house with a whole skin, and by the look of him, that might not be an easy task.

She lifted her chin. “I must thank you for your timely arrival, my lord, but I collect that you have come to escort your sister back to Wyvern Towers. She will be wondering what has become of you.”

As she moved to pass him, Rochford caught her arm. His grip was light at first, but when Philippa attempted to free herself, he shook his head, grasping her much more firmly.

“Oh, no, you don’t, my girl, not until I have said a few things to you.”

“Let me go, Rochford,” she said, trying to sound dignified and succeeding in sounding apprehensive instead. She tugged again, but this time, somehow, he caught hold of her other shoulder.

“Little idiot,” he muttered through clenched teeth as he shook her, “you will listen to me.” He stopped shaking her almost at once, but while she attempted to catch her breath, he went on harshly, “I suppose you meant just to walk off alone again into God knows what sort of trouble. To leave the house unescorted, knowing as you must how distressed your people are, was the height of folly. Did you want someone to serve you a mischief?”

“No, of course not,” she retorted, nettled. “I didn’t think at all, of course. I merely wanted to get out of the house.”

“Ructions again, I suppose,” he said, releasing her. And then, when her head came up and she looked at him in surprise, he smiled grimly. “Oh, yes, I have heard all about Wakefield’s displeasure. Uncle Archie hears a good deal from Miss Pellerin, and of course Lucinda prattles constantly of what she learns whilst she is under your roof. Bad manners, of course, but I have an interest, so I don’t scold her.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he said evenly, “You can scarcely blame your stepson for his attitude, ma’am. Your actions have made life for him amongst the sporting set well nigh insupportable.”

“He is bearing up well enough,” Philippa said, attempting to match the calmness of his tone. “He has hunted three days out of the four, and if he has not had so many invitations to dine afterward as he had anticipated, I am sure I am the one who suffers for it, not he, and not his friends. They have plenty to eat and drink at Chase Charley, and I’ve noticed that when he invites guests, they come.”

“Come to see you in your den, most like,” said the viscount flatly. “Curiosity accomplishes much in social enterprise. Do you dine with your stepson and his guests?”

“Yes,” she replied slowly, “for Cousin Adeliza enjoys their company. I do not allow Jessalyn to do so, of course, but I could not deny my cousin her pleasure.” She grimaced.

“They may come to see what I am like, sir, but at least Bickerstaff has not had to turn any gentlemen callers from the door of late, and I have not received a proposal of marriage in nearly a fortnight. That must be accounted to the good.”

His mouth lightened briefly. “If you should receive an offer, I strongly advise you to refuse it,” he said, “for you may rest assured that any suitor in these parts who offered marriage to you now would be doing so in order to achieve the right to beat you soundly. Every man jack of them wishes you had a husband or father at hand to bring you to your senses.”

With a gasp of indignation, she pushed past him then and strode furiously toward the house, but Rochford had no intention of letting her escape so easily and, keeping pace with her stride for stride, he described for her conversationally, but in no uncertain terms, her stubbornness, her foolish pride, her childish desire for revenge—paltry revenge, he called it—and her foolhardiness in not properly looking after her own safety. Before they emerged from the park, Philippa was gritting her teeth and wishing she could take wing like the finch that shot out of a hedge ahead of them.

“Considering that you have done all you can do,” he said as they moved briskly up the terrace steps to the house, “to make enemies of every man in Leicestershire, one might expect you to show at least the good sense to avoid a face-to-face confrontation with any of them. But no, you have to go out looking for trouble—Good day, Wakefield,” he said with only the slightest change of tone when Edward stepped onto the terrace from the saloon as they approached the door. “Were you looking for her ladyship?”

Edward flushed uncomfortably as he looked from Philippa’s angry face to the viscount’s calm one, but he strove for a tone of casual unconcern. “As … as a matter of fact,” he said, “I was just thinking of going round to the stables to look in on those new nags of mine. Prime bits of blood and bone. Would you like to take a look at them?”

“If they are the two you sent on ahead of you, I’ve seen them, thanks,” Rochford said evenly. He did not offer further comment, and Philippa, who had already heard his opinion of both young hunters and knew it to match Jake Pottersby’s, believed Edward had reason, whether he realized it or not, to be grateful for the viscount’s reticence.

Edward glanced at her just then, and she knew from his anxious look that he had indeed been coming to look for her. She managed to smile at him.

Relief sounded in his voice, but the words he spoke—to Rochford—were scarcely calculated to please her. “I say, my lord, won’t you join us for supper? We’ve a number of good sorts here already, and I daresay it will make for just the sort of gathering you particularly like. Alvanley’s here, you know, though Mr. Brummell’s returned to London. And there’s Reg Partridge and Winkburn, and … oh, a host of fine fellows. Do say you will.”

Rochford glanced at Philippa, but she avoided his eye. She could hardly be so rude as to say outright that she did not wish him to stay, but surely he would refuse Edward’s invitation if she made no move to second it. Apparently, however, he was not so conciliating as she had hoped.

“I should like very much to stay,” the viscount said smoothly. “I believe my uncle is in the library with your cousin, and of course my sister is also here. I could send her home in the carriage, but as I have been given to understand that Miss Raynard-Wakefield does not dine in company, perhaps you will not mind if Lucinda remains to bear her company.”

“Devil a bit. Shouldn’t be surprised but what Jess will be glad to have her,” replied Edward, clearly gratified at being applied to in such a case. He glanced from Philippa to the viscount, then added diffidently, “I say, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything, bursting out upon you in such a way. I’ll leave you to finish your discussion, and when you’ve done, Rochford, perhaps you’d like to join the rest of us in the billiards room. Alvanley has challenged all comers to a tournament. Should be some good sport.”

Rochford nodded, and when Edward ducked back inside, he turned to Philippa with a wry smile. “Seems to have forgotten he was to look in on those nags of his.”

She shrugged. “I daresay you were right, and he was coming to look for me. He does not like to be at outs with people, but he has a nasty tongue and I left him abruptly. No doubt, after a time, his conscience began to trouble him, and he wished to apologize.” The door had swung to behind Edward, and she reached to push it open again. “You will be wanting to join the others, sir. The billiards room is through the dining room, at the northwest corner of the house. It was used to be a picture cabinet, and you will see some fine examples of Mr. Ferneley’s and Mr. Charles Lorraine Smith’s work hanging there.”

When she would have turned away from him, Rochford stopped her just as he had done earlier, with a hand on her arm. This time, however, his touch was light. She made no attempt to pull away, but neither did she look at him. His touch was warm, and in that moment she found herself wishing with all her heart that she could simply put things back the way they had been. He spoke quietly. “I cannot let you go just yet, Philippa, not until I have attempted to make amends for my own hasty tongue. I fear I have been guilty of the same fault I deplored in you, and have let my temper carry me beyond the line.”

“You are apologizing to me for what you said?” Skepticism sounded clearly in her tone, for except at the very beginning, he had not sounded as though his temper had run beyond its leash.

Rochford shook his head, amused. “Not for all I said. Merely for allowing my tongue to run on like a fiddlestick. I’ve no doubt I said much more than it was necessary to say. Seeing Giles go for you like that frightened me witless.”

She turned then, unimpressed, intending to tell him to his face that, temper or no temper, he had said more than he had had any right to say, but the look in his eyes diverted her. Instead of putting him firmly in his place, she found herself gazing into those light gray eyes as though she might read his thoughts there. And, indeed, he seemed to be sending her a message that had nothing to do with hunting or arguments or no-trespassing signs. There was warmth in the message, and something more, something that after a bare second or two made her wrench her gaze from his to look with a sense of profound relief at the top button of his coffee-colored waistcoat. It was a pearl button, and by concentrating very carefully upon the luminescence of the pearl, she was able to bring her suddenly disordered senses under some control. She was still deeply conscious of his hand on her arm. Her skin tingled where he touched her, and oddly, she found herself remembering the strength of that same hand when he had shaken her. A little thrill coursed through her at the realization that she had unleashed such power in this man, that she could unleash that power again simply by arousing his anger or, perhaps, his passion.

“Philippa.” His voice sounded ragged, and she realized he must be feeling some of the same emotions she was experiencing. She could not meet his eyes again, however—not just yet—so although she straightened her shoulders, she continued to look at the pearl button.

“I must change my dress before dinner,” she said breathlessly.

With a sigh Rochford held the door for her, and she hurried past him, crossing the saloon to the stone hall, then nearly running up the grand stair. Lucinda and Jessalyn were in the morning room, their heads together over a romantic novel, but Philippa merely smiled at them in passing. A moment later, she was safe in her own bedchamber, with their giggles behind her and the door shut firmly.

There was still some time before she might expect Bickerstaff to announce dinner, for since Edward’s coming the hour had been set back to accommodate him and his friends. Though she would wish to look her best, she did not ring for her maid at once but stood for some moments, her back against the door, as though she had need to catch her breath.

She had suspected for some time that her relationship with Rochford was not the usual flirtatious matching of wits that she customarily enjoyed with gentlemen friends—when they were not pressing her to marry them, in any event—but she had not thought any man could shake her so, merely by looking into her eyes. It had not been flirtation she had missed when he ceased his frequent visits, but simply his company. He could make her laugh, and she had felt a kinship with him that she could not remember having felt toward any man before, including the late baron. Or perhaps especially the late baron. Wakefield had been, after all, old enough to be her father, and in many ways his attitude toward her had been paternal rather than husbandly. He had been gentle and loving, but he had treated her as though she had been something fragile, albeit intelligent, except of course during the hunting season, when he had scarcely chanced to think of her at all. He had given her many lovely things, and he had taught her to manage her own affairs, but perhaps that was because he had not liked to think of a day when another man might control her. Cousin Adeliza had said once that the baron had carried his teaching too far. Was it possible that she had had the right of it?

Looking back now, Philippa was quite certain that Wakefield, in preparing her for the day when he would be gone, had prepared her for a solitary life, not for life with another man. Even his attitude toward her here in Leicestershire, she could see now, had been aimed at teaching her that she could get on with only herself or another woman for company. And now that she came to think of it, she realized that many of the faults she had discerned in the men who had courted her in London and Brighton had been faults Wakefield had disparaged in his fellowman, not necessarily faults that would have disturbed her before his having so assiduously pointed them out to her. But he had not known Rochford.