Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet (22 page)

Damon's gaze lowered to the wreckage of the muffin. "Dry. I cannot recommend them, ma'am. Unlike some of my
objets d'art
, which are quite fabulous."

"Which is why you discourage visitors? Alas—I must have been a great
trial. But you shall not have to strain your manners beyond this
afternoon. Lord Bodwin is sending his carriage for us."

"So I understand. I trust it will not inconvenience you to wait
until after the investors meeting. It should be over in time for Whitt
to—"

"Whitthurst is much too ill to attend your silly meeting!" Sophia
flashed, her poise vanishing. "I should not really allow him to journey
to the Hall."

"Spoken like a true martyr," he said with his twisted smile. "No wonder poor Whitt found it necessary to escape to Cancrizans."

"Escape? Oh!
Oh
! You most—most
odious
—"

"Viper?" He leaned forward. "Whitthurst is a fine fellow and I know
you love him. But he's blue-devilled just now and if you continue your
overprotective coddling, he may never regain his spirits."

Infuriated, she hissed savagely, "He near died—if you care!"

"I do. And it was admirable that you pulled him back to life—"

"And unspeakable that
you
almost pushed him to his death!"

He met her flashing eyes, then drew back and began to toy with the
salt cellar. "For some men, perhaps. But you should not lose sight of
the fact that I am… beneath contempt."

His lazy grin mocked her, but she noted the shadows under his eyes
and, remembering her earlier impression of weariness, said in a gentler
voice, "If I love my brother so deeply, it is because he is kind and
honourable and thoroughly decent. I admire him for those qualities. And
for his gallantry."

She had spoken with unconscious pride and now blushed as he sneered, '"And will seek those same traits in a husband, no doubt?"

"I would not settle for less!"

His eyes fell. He was undoubtedly aware of his shortcomings, and
Sophia could not help but be sorry for him. "I suppose every gentleman
has some doting lady in his life who tends to smother him with
affection," she said. "Even you, uncle."

"
Assurement
!" he said cynically. "My mistress. For which she was extreme well paid."

"Of course he wants us out of here," said the Viscount, talking
softly so as not to start himself coughing again. "He cannot have the
workmen pounding away while I'm lying here like a curst, grizzling
girl."

"Grizzled might be a better term," smiled Sophia.

He felt his chin. "Lord! Regular gooseberry bush! You might ask
Thompson if he could spare the time to shave me. I cannot seem to
manage it myself yet. But I'm improving, only took off half my ear lobe
last time!"

She concealed the pang that went through her and said,

"Dearest, I know you don't like me to mention it, but—does it still hurt very much?"

"No," he said brusquely. Then, relenting, sighed, "The worst thing,
Chicky, is the dreadful time some people have trying not to notice.
Don't know what to do with their eyes. Drives me wild!"

"Oh, and I thought—when St. Clair asked you how you were getting
along with one wing to fly with it was dreadful of him. I suppose—it
wasn't?"

"Well—he was
there
, you see. Any of the old sportsmen who went through it understand. It's the men who didn't go… and the women. Gad!"

"I see," she said in a very small voice.

"Oh, I didn't mean you, little Chick. You've been not half bad…" His
fond grin negated the begrudging nature of the praise. "But the girls
I've met the few times I've gone out try so wildly not to stare. They
struggle frenziedly to make conversation…" His fist clenched. "But they
can't wait to get away from me, they're so nervous and embarrassed.
That's what I've become, you see—an embarrassment… One poor girl almost
fainted, I think, because she was honest enough to say she was 'up in
arms' about something!"

He stared at the ceiling, his face very strained, and Sophia,
remembering how many times she had cautioned friends against "noticing"
his injury, could have wept. Damon had said she was overprotective. But
Whitthurst had been so horribly close to death… "Stephen," her voice
trembled, "I'm sure they don't mean to be unkind. They're just so
afraid of hurting you…"

"I know." He took a breath and smiled brightly. "Don't pay no
attention to me. This is my 'be sorry for Stephen hour'. It's… it's
only…" He stared at her little slipper and ground out, "If just
once—just
once
a girl would look at me and say, 'Oh—you lost an arm, I see!' By God, I think I'd marry her on the spot!"

She gave a shaken little laugh in which he joined, and some of the strain went out of his face.

"You're much too young to be thinking of marriage," she chided.

"I'm only four years younger than the old Nunks—or Hartwell. And I hear
he's
been dangling after you again. Get another offer from the fellow?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." He hadn't sounded pleased—as Clay had
implied. Curious, she asked, "Would it displease you if I accepted Sir
Amory? Don't you like him?"

He hesitated, then said reluctantly, "No."

"Why? He's one of the most popular young bachelors in Town. And a real catch—as your gracious uncle has already informed me."

Stephen looked at her sharply, then grinned. "He would! Cam thinks
Hartwell's a bang-up sportsman. Blind spot. They grew up together,
y'know. Hartwell was from a very impoverished house."

"He was? But I thought he was extreme wealthy?"

"Is now. Inherited it—some distant relation in America, I believe,
who had the kindness to pass to his reward a few years ago. When they
were children, Hartwell practically lived here. And they spent a lot of
time together in Europe. But—I don't think Cam really sees him these
days."

"And you do?" Her brother was frowningly silent, and she said, "Stephen, I wish you would tell me. If you
really
disapprove…"

"Don't be such a peagoose," he grinned. "Your life is your own, Sophia. You must marry the man of your heart."

"Then—you'd give your consent?"

He stared at her, at the end posts of his bed, at the rich rug on the floor. "No! Be damned if I would!"

She burst into laughter. "But—you just said…"

"I know I did. Hadn't really thought it would come to that, I
collect. I don't really know why I don't like the fella." He scowled,
thinking about it, then said sapiently, "Perhaps it's because he never
says anything he fears might displease anyone. Everything is so
carefully calculated—almost as if he plays a part. And—he's got such
perfect white teeth!" He glanced at her in some embarrassment. "You
think I'm cork-brained, I don't doubt. Not much to take exception to,
is it?"

"Not really. Cam—er, the Marquis, is much better looking, yet you don't seem to object to him."

"You never asked me about the Viper." She gave a start at the use of
her nickname for their host, and he chuckled. "Must admit I'd not
realized you were considering keeping it in the family."

"Of course, I am not!" she bridled. "As if he'd ask me! He knows I purely despise him!"

Whitthurst, who loved his sister slavishly and seldom scolded her,
now looked upon her with cold eyes and said sternly, "I sincerely hope
you are not serious because until now I have not suspected you of being
totally henwitted!"

The air was crisp and fresh after the rain, and as Sophia guided the
black Arabian mare through the copse of beeches, the sun burst from
diminishing clouds to edge each leaf with diamonds and enrich the green
of ferns and grasses. The mare was a spirited creature, her hooves
prancing so rapidly they seemed scarcely to rest upon the earth before
they were picked up again. It was a pleasure to exercise her, as Damon
had requested, despite the fact that at first Sophia had suspected this
was merely a ruse to separate her "overprotective" self from her
brother. She had assented reluctantly but now could only be delighted
of the chance to ride through such a bright morning after so many hours
spent in the sickroom.

She had come a long way and was circling back toward the Priory when
the mare gave a snort of fright and began to dance in so frantic a
fashion that Sophia was almost unhorsed. Leaning forward to quiet the
animal, she checked in alarm. The turf sloped downward to her right,
ending against a small belt of silver birch trees. Before those trees,
two men wearing breeches and shirts with sleeves rolled back circled
each other warily. The one, a young giant with hair like snow in the
sunlight; the other, slim and tall, with dark hair. And seeing these
things, Sophia was out of the saddle in a second. She lifted her skirts
and ran wildly down the hill with no thought for ladylike propriety or
revenge or anything but the bright crimson that streaked the side of
Damon's mouth and the terrible crouching advance of the mighty Ariel.

They closed even as she approached, Ariel's right arm flashing
upward in a blur of movement. Damon swayed aside, leapt in to strike,
and moved back awkwardly, his blow seeming to have made little
impression, if any.

"Stop! Stop!" Sophia shouted. "Are you both gone mad?"

Damon, shooting a quick, desperate glance at her, called, "Stay back, Sophia! He is mad—poor fellow. Stay back!"

"Aye!" Ariel confirmed, that deep voice a husky sob. "Mad I do be
all right, milady. And ye'd best be gone—less'n ye want to watch me
kill this… this filthy vermin, what calls itself a man!"

With the last word, that mighty fist shot out. Damon ducked,
lightning swift, and, eluding Ariel's guard, rammed home two savage
blows to the midriff that staggered the big man. With a leap of the
heart, Sophia thought, 'Well done!' but Damon was obviously already
hurt and no match for Ariel, even had he been heavier by three stone.

"Luke," Damon cried. "I swear you're wrong! Luke—don't be a fool!"

If only, thought Sophia, she had not so cleverly eluded the grooms
Damon had sent to escort her! What chance had she to stop this, all
alone? She took up a rock and wondered if she could bring herself to
smash at Ariel's great head with it. Damon, casting a quick look in her
direction, called, "No!"

For one split second, Ariel's attention shifted. And, without
hesitation, Damon jumped in. His right fist shot straight and true for
the bearded chin, and even as that deadly arm swung up to block him,
his left smashed again into the big man's midriff. Ariel gave a grunt.
Incredibly, he staggered, went to his knees, and, pitching forward,
caught himself on one hand.

Sophia ran closer and swung her rock high. And, again, Damon shouted a
furious "No!"

She halted, and the chance was gone. Ariel was dragging himself to
his hands and knees, and she backed away while Damon, standing ready,
watched him.

Slowly, the abused head was raised, and a glitter of tears was in
the cook's eyes. "Why did ye do this awful thing?" he groaned. "Ye that
I loved like me own brother. Ye that took me up when everyone else
wiped their feet on me… I'd have died for 'ee… don't ye know that?"

And even then he was leaping forward with surprising speed for so
large a man and striking out. Damon dodged aside, but this time the
left fist followed too swiftly, and his attempt to block that battering
ram was only partly successful. The impact was stunning. He hurtled
back and, falling heavily, managed to retain sufficient consciousness
to roll aside as Ariel ran and jumped. Small branches snapped, and
twigs and leaves flew as those great boots landed. Sophia gave a
sobbing whimper and shrank, her hands flying to her mouth. Damon,
rolling desperately, was somehow avoiding those stamping boots. God
help him if one landed! And then he was up once more, gasping for
breath, clinging to a tree as he dragged himself on to unsteady feet,
his face white and sweat streaked, his right arm tight against his side
where that last blow had caught him.

"Luke," he wheezed. "For… God's sake, man… Don't—do this!"

Ariel, holding his own middle, groaned, "Ye knocked me right down,
Damon! Right off my feet! Ye as was the last one I'd'a thought could
stand up to me! How can'ee be so much of a man and so evil? Why did ye
have to hurt her? Ye knows… how I do so love her."

"Luke, I swear! Luke—don't!"

But the grief-stricken Ariel was jumping forward. The movements of
the Marquis were ever more faltering. He staggered under a welter of
blows and fell yet again, but as the giant rushed him, he snatched up a
branch and thrust it between those ready boots so effectively that
Ariel also crashed down.

Filled with a terror such as she'd never before known, Sophia found
a large branch. No matter what Camille said, this time she would wield
it even if she should kill him, though that horrible prospect made her
grow cold with dread. But as she reached out, she saw a note on the
ground, and, her eyes caught by one word, she snatched it up and read,
"Luke, my dere. Dont ye come looking for me bekos I have ran far away
where you wont never find me. O Luke—Lord Damon is just what they sed.
Hees a devil. I dident no what they ment. I tride to get away for your
dere sake as well as my own. But he was too strong for me. And so I
must hide and you must find someone cleen and decent. And forget your
poor, shamed Nancy."

The paper fluttered from Sophia's hands. She looked up slowly and
saw that they were both on their feet again, Damon weaving drunkenly as
he backed away. Even as she watched, Ariel charged forward. Damon
struck at him desperately, but Ariel only shook his head, gave a harsh
broken laugh, and unleashed that terrible fist. Damon was smashed back,
went down hard, and lay unmoving. Ariel stepped closer, his jaw set,
his eyes shining with inflexible purpose.

Sophia woke up and ran between him and that sprawled figure. The
white bushy brows drew down. The narrowed eyes glared, and her heart
seemed as if it must burst, so great was her fear. "Luke," she begged.
"Luke—don't! They'll hang you!"