Pistols at Dawn (9 page)

"Not at all!" Lucien seemed unable to tear his gaze from her tousled gold curls and downcast features. "I mean, nothing about your appearance seems ruined in the least. Y-you look just like one of those ethereal wood sprites one reads about in fairy tales—" His face turned a vivid shade of scarlet as he choked on the rest of his words.

Meredith took pity on his stuttering embarrassment and ventured a step away from tree trunk.

"Don't run away just yet," he cried before she could speak. "Please! I just want to have a word with you, that's all." He shoved his hands into his pockets, as if to confirm he had no intention of laying a finger on her.

She took another step sideways. "I wasn't going to flee. I'm not afraid of you."

"Y-you aren't?"

A ghost of a smile stole to her lips. "I suppose it is on account of the bouquet you chose."

He looked rather confused.

"If you chosen hothouse roses or some other fancy flowers, it would have been one thing," she explained. "But you brought wildflowers. It seems to me that no man who would go out and gather such a delicate assortment of blooms can be entirely evil."

He stared at his feet, and looked to be debating whether to speak again or to simply slink away with his tail between his legs.

The awkward silence was broken by a playful bark. The hound had taken up a small broken branch and was bounding back and forth between them.

"What a delightful dog. Is he yours?" she asked, taking the stick from his jaws and tossing it to the edge of the field.

"No, he belongs to Uncle Marcus," answered Lucien. Ajax returned at a dead run, this time dropping the stick at his feet. He picked it up and hurled it deep into the tall grass. "But as he lacks the temperament of a proper hunter, he's been banished from the kennels by the gamekeeper. We have taken to spending a good deal of time together." His mouth crooked in a lopsided grimace. "Two strays taking solace in each other, I suppose, since neither of us is considered a credit to our breed."

Surprised by the note of raw hurt in his voice, Meredith stole a peek at his face. There was no trace of the lordly arrogance, only a rather wistful plaintiveness more befitting a lost pup. With a start, she realized she felt no more threatened by his presence than she did by the frolicking hound in the meadow.

"I know you must think me a veritable monster," he slowly, his voice as pinched as his features. "And no doubt you wish me to the very hottest corner of Hell, but..." He paused in some confusion, his hands raking through his chestnut locks. "Good Lord, to say 'I'm sorry' seems so woefully inadequate. Any words would be, no matter how eloquently I might try to phrase them."

Ignoring the thrust of the hound's muzzle against his thigh, Lucien forced himself to continue. "What my uncle proposed... I want you to know I am more than willing to offer you the protection of my name. Despite what you must think, I am not really a wastrel or a vicious drunkard. I-I can't explain what happened that night, for I don't understand it myself."

He hitched in a deep breath. "But that sort of violence would never happen again, I swear it. I should be a decent sort of husband to you, Miss Meredith. And I should try very hard to make up for the suffering I have caused you."

It took a moment for her to answer. "It is a most generous offer, Mr. Harkness. But you would only be following one mistake with another, I think. After all, we barely have any acquaintance with each other and might soon come to regret such a hasty decision." Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "I, for one, would wish for a better reason than mere fear of scandal to consider marriage. One that includes a mutual regard and affection."

He hung his head.

"But as for your apology, sir—my father was a rector, but not the fire and brimstone sort. He believed in forgiveness. As do I."

"It is you who are the generous one, Miss Meredith." A rueful quirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Though somehow I doubt your sister would care to hear you voice such kind sentiments."

Meredith answered with a quick smile of her own. "I'm afraid Eliza feels that she must look after all of us like a protective mother hen, though I am hardly a helpless chick any longer. I'm sorry she flew into the boughs with you."

"I believe it was a furred rather than feathered species that came to Uncle Marcus's mind in regard to your sister—a tigress to be exact." The glimmer of humor disappeared from his face, replaced by a more earnest expression. "But having a loving family is nothing to be sorry for. Indeed, you are truly fortunate to have someone who cares so deeply for you."

"Have you no siblings, Mr. Harkness?"

He shook his head. Meredith found something in his forlorn expression prompted yet another question from her.

"And your parents?"

Ajax whined and nuzzled his nose against Lucien's hand. The young man squatted down and began to scratch behind the animal's ears, drawing a low
whoof
of contentment for his efforts. "Would that people were so easy to please," he murmured softly. Then, looking up at Meredith, he added, "An outbreak of influenza swept through our estate when I was barely fourteen. I recovered. My parents did not."

"I'm so sorry. That must have been very difficult for you."

He winced. "I did not mean—that is, I am hardly trying to elicit sympathy from you."

Ignoring his halting apology, Meredith continued her gentle probing. "Is the earl your closest family, then?"

"Yes, Uncle Marcus is my guardian. For nine more months, that is."

"Oh dear, that has an ominous ring to it. I gather you and your uncle do not rub together very well. Do you chafe at the fact he holds the reins?"

"Rather it is he who regrets being saddled with the responsibility for a callow youth, and a bookish one at that. At least, I imagine he does. We don't know each other very well, but I can't help thinking I am hardly the sort of dashing fellow he would wish to be his heir. Everyone holds him the greatest awe, while me—well, you know quite well what should be thought of me."

"Perhaps you are being too hard on yourself. One mistake does not condemn a person for a lifetime."

"You are far more generous than I deserve."

Meredith found herself wanting to bring the smile back to his lips. It was really quite a nice one, she decided, the rugged masculinity of its chiseled contours tempered by a boyish vulnerability that softened any sharpness. Indeed, she had to restrain the urge to reach out and smooth away the look of haunted regret that tugged at its corners.

"If your uncle has any sense at all, he should be quite proud of you," she said in a rush. "It takes a good deal of courage to admit a mistake and be willing to accept the consequences."

His mouth did soften a bit, but before he could manage a suitable reply, she reached down and took up her basket. "It's getting rather late," she observed, her eyes straying to the lengthening shadows around them. "I had best be going home before my sister begins to worry."

The hound, on seeing the basket rise, thought it another game and tried to bury his nose in the mushrooms. She steered him away with a gentle push. "You are a sweet thing, Ajax, but now I must bid you goodbye. And you, too, Mr. Harkness."

Lucien took hold of the animal's collar and watched her hurry away. "I vow, old boy, I shall never let anyone disparage your abilities," he murmured. "You are quite the cleverest dog in all of England."

* * *

"
What?
" exclaimed Eliza.

Meredith didn't look up from sorting the various plants into neat little piles on the kitchen table. "I imagine that is a rhetorical question, since it seems you heard quite clearly what I just said."

"If I had any idea that scoundrel was lurking in the vicinity," she muttered, "I would have insisted you take the pistol along."

"And a waste of effort it would have been, since I wouldn't have any idea which end to point where, even if I had the desire to pull the trigger. Which I don't. No, I shall leave such extreme measures to you, Liza." She calmly began to separate the mushroom caps from their stems. "Besides, I was not in any danger from Mr. Harkness."

"How can you say that!"

"I can't really explain it," she admitted. "I just... knew."

Eliza rinsed out the last of the teacups. She dried it and put it aside on the washboard before speaking again. "You should also know that Mary Yount was attacked last night," she said quietly.

Her sister turned so pale that Eliza feared she might be in danger of swooning. However, Meredith steadied herself on the edge of the table, and in a moment a bit of color returned to her cheeks. "I do not think that Mr. Harkness is capable of such duplicity. If you had seen him—he was so genuinely remorseful. And nice." The twist of her features showed how desperately she wished to believe her own assertion.

"It seems highly unlikely that there are two such men prowling about Chertwell."

When Meredith made no answer, she went on, though she hated having to strike another blow at her sister's faith in her fellow man. "Merry, things are not always as they seem, no matter how much we might want them to be. Promise me you will stay away from Lord Killingworth's nephew."

There was a noticeable hesitation before the whispered answer. "If it is what you wish, then very well. I shall do as you ask."

It was a less enthusiastic agreement that she might have wished for, but on slanting a glance at her sister's troubled face, Eliza decided it would do for the moment.

* * *

"Six times twelve, minus four and a half percent..." Eliza's muttering nearly drowned out the scratching of her pen on the sheet of scrap paper. She paused to add up the figures for a third time before entering them for real in the ledger.

"Hell's bells!" With a guilty grimace, she looked around to see if anyone had overheard her slip of the tongue. Only Caliban, draped in a sinuous curve over the back of the faded sofa, was within earshot and he did nothing more than give a lazy yawn and go back to grooming his whiskers.

Her eyes turned back to the page. After yet another tally she was forced to crumple up the sheet and toss it away. Why her mind refused to function with its usual precision this morning was most puzzling, but rather than risk making a hash of the accounts, she set her quill aside.

A snort of frustration punctuated the slam of her desk drawer. It drew an answering hiss from the other occupant of the parlor. Four paws landed on the open ledger and a twitching tail began to tickle her nose.

"Oh, Cal," she murmured, scratching the cat's chin. "It seems you are the only one of this household I don't have to worry about."

The cat blinked in some mysterious feline sign of commiseration and nudged her hand to continue the caresses.

Eliza sighed and kept up her musings as well. "Mama is growing slowly weaker, though her good days disguise the truth. Edith is becoming so frail that she can barely climb the stairs or carry anything heavier than a pillow. And Merry—"

Eliza stopped to chew at her lip. The cat sat back on its haunches and mimicked her action.

"I'm not sure quite what to do about Merry," she admitted.

Caliban answered with a throaty purr.

"Is that so?" Eliza allowed herself a rueful smile as the cat rolled onto his back and began to swat at the ball of discarded paper. "Well, then, I see I should ask your advice more often."

What she dared not say aloud was that her own agitated state of mind was causing nearly as much concern as the worries about her family. "Hell's bells," she repeated, though only in a whisper. And the Devil himself must be ringing the peal.

In this case, the Devil was a tall, raven-haired gentleman with sensuous amber eyes and a lithe, muscular body that would tempt even the most saintly female to contemplate the pleasures of sin.

Well, it was quite clear she was no saint.

Just as there was no denying that her own shameful dreams were dancing to his tune, no matter how hard she tried to banish the image of candlelight flickering across his chest, or of dark curls beckoning her eyes to follow their drift lower and lower...

Why was such a disreputable scoundrel causing her nerves to jangle at very thought of his touch? Why did the mere recollection of how warm his flesh had felt bring a clanging to her ears and a weakness in her knees?

A faint voice from deep inside ventured to answer. Perhaps because it seemed unlikely she would be pressed up against a man's naked chest any time in the near future.

Or not so near future, she amended, after considering every male of her acquaintance between the ages of eight and eighty.

Rather than taking solace in that thought, the harsh truth of it only served to strike yet another dissonant chord within her.

But where were such maudlin overtones coming from? The thought of spinsterhood had never before bothered her. Indeed, she rather considered the lack of a husband a blessing instead of a curse—one that allowed her the freedom to use her head for something more than merely nodding meek answers in reply to a domineering male. More puzzled than before, Eliza found her gaze wandering to the mullioned window. Outside in the garden, a robin was busy weaving a bit of straw into the foundations of a nest. But somehow the simple harmony of its twittering song sounded dull and flat to her ears.