The Hired Hero (12 page)

“Is Mr. Leighton in his rooms?” inquired Davenport.

 She hesitated. The voice was that of a gentleman despite the dirty and disheveled clothes. Though her expression indicated she had her doubts, she stepped aside and motioned up a set of narrow stairs. “Top floor.”

They walked up four flights and knocked again at a warped door that strained against its flimsy latch. A muffled oath greeted the sound. There was a slight shuffling, the rattle of glasses and another low curse before it flung open, missing the earl’s nose by less than an inch.

“Well?” A mop of unruly brown hair hung over a high forehead, framing a slender, almost delicate face whose high cheekbones and pale complexion only added to the rather ethereal air about the figure.  The dark hazel eyes, by far the most striking feature of the young man’s visage, were narrowed in annoyance until they recognized the figure in front of them.

“Julian!” he exclaimed, laying aside a sable brush and absently wiping his hand on the front of a paint spattered linen shirt.  “Good lord, what—”

Davenport took Caroline by the elbow and brushed past his friend, drawing the door shut behind them. “Sorry to intrude on you, Jeremy. I know how much you dislike being interrupted in your work.”

 Caroline found herself facing a large artist’s canvas, resting precariously on a rickety easel. It depicted a landscape, with the sea in the background, rendered in a style of great originality and imagination. The light and colors were ethereal but dazzling, wrought with a passion and technical skill that took her breath away. “Oh,” she said impulsively. “What a marvelous work!”

The earl gave an involuntary smile. “I see you have gained a new admirer. Trust me, she is not easily moved to compliments.”

His friend regarded Davenport’s disheveled state, then the figure behind him, his eyes betraying confusion at earl’s reference to gender, as well as Caroline’s decidedly unmasculine voice and legs.  “You aren’t by any chance...foxed, are you, Julian?

The earl snorted in disgust. “You know me better than that—why do you ask such a stupid question?”

The young man’s brows arched as he looked again at the figure behind Davenport. “She?” he repeated slowly.

“Oh, that. Perhaps we should sit down, Jeremy,” advised Davenport. “I suppose explanations are in order.”

The young man motioned towards a couple of simple pine chairs arranged around a small table towards the back of the cramped room. It was then that Caroline realized he had only one hand. His other arm ended in a stump shortly below the elbow and the shirt sleeve was rolled up and pinned closed to keep from flapping in the slight breeze that blew through the window.  With a look that conveyed his acute embarrassment, he make a bit of room among several stacks of leather-bound books and took a seat on the edge of a narrow wooden bench.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, staring at the floor with an expression Caroline found endearing. “I rarely...entertain.”

That elicited a laugh from the earl. “To say the least.” He glanced around at the cluttered space, crammed with rolls of linen, bottles of linseed oil, pigments and  jars bristling with a variety of brushes in all shapes and sizes. In one corner, a group of finished paintings were carefully slotted into a wooden rack. “You have been busy, I see.”

Jeremy nodded. “Thanks to your help, Julian, I...”

The earl cut him off. “I’m afraid I have a favor to ask of you.”

The young man’s eyes lit up. “Anything.”

Davenport repressed a smile. “Perhaps you should wait until you hear what it is.”

For the first time, the other man smiled. It made his boyish face look even younger, though Caroline hadn’t missed the fine lines etched around his eyes and mouth that denoted laughter was not dominant form of expression for Mr. Leighton.

“It doesn’t matter, Julian. Surely you know that.”

 “First of all, can you take care of Nero for a short time?”

 The other man nodded, slightly mystified.

 “We shall also need to find some clothes for Miss—the young lady here. And I shall have to ask to borrow a small sum”—he glanced pointedly at Caroline—”which shall be repaid shortly.”

  As Jeremy looked only more puzzled, the earl sighed and proceeded to give his friend a brief summary of what had occurred over the last few days.

At the end of the explanation, the young man gave a low whistle and slanted an appraising look at Caroline,  mixed with more than a touch of curiosity. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated, and turned back to Davenport instead. “I fear I’m not terribly plump in the pocket at the moment, but you are welcome to what I have. As for clothing, what sort of, er, garments do you need?” Again, his eyes strayed to Caroline and her all too visible legs.

Davenport gave a short laugh. “A good question.” He cocked his brow inquiringly at her.

“Even though it will no longer fool whoever is...pursuing me, it may be easier for us if I remain dressed as a man,” she replied. “We will be able to move about with greater freedom.”

“I have a...friend who has a younger brother. I believe he is about the, er, right size.” Jeremy blushed slightly at the intimation that he had taken note of Caroline’s measurements.

 “Perhaps you might visit Miss Fathing now and see if we might avail ourselves of some spare things.”

 The young man’s color deepened.

 Davenport’s eyes twinkled in gentle amusement at his friend’s discomfiture. “Come, put on your jacket. I’ll go out with you.” He turned to Caroline. “Will you be all right alone for a short while? I’ll pick up a few things for supper and see about any coaches passing tonight in the direction of Salisbury.”

She nodded.

He rose and made for the door. After a few steps he paused, drew out the pistol from the folds of his coat and placed it on the edge of a small table crowded with bladders of paint. “Do you know how to use it?”

Caroline’s chin rose slightly. “I shoot nearly as well as I ride.”

His mouth twitched at the corners. “Then pity the poor fellow who comes unbidden through the door. I see we must have a care, Jeremy, on returning home.”

 “If you are tired, miss, there is a...that is, in the other room...I’m afraid it is not fit for a female but—”

 “How very kind of you, Mr. Leighton,” she interrupted. “I assure you, it will be very welcome indeed.” The warmth of her smile caused the young man’s shoulders to relax. He even managed a semblance of a smile in return. With that, the two of them left, closing the door firmly behind them.

She lay down on the narrow bed for a short time, but even though she ached for rest, she was too agitated to sleep. After tossing and turning she gave up and, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders, wandered back out into the young man’s workplace. The clutter was deceiving. On closer inspection it was clear that every color, every brush had its place, and that most things were organized on the right side of a table or easel, in easy reach of that hand. Her gaze went again to the large painting that dominated the small space, and once more she was startled by the sheer power of its emotion. The young man may be shy of speech but he had another form of expression perhaps more eloquent than any words could be. She studied it with a knowledgeable eye, being well acquainted with the works of many of the leading artists of the day. There was no doubt this young man was a prodigious talent.

On a low table in front of the narrow windows, was a stack of sketchbooks. She couldn’t resist the temptation to view more of his work. Seating herself in one of the simple pine chairs, she began to leaf through them. The pages were filled with bold charcoal sketches that caused her eyes to widen in admiration. A single tree, drooping with the weight of a summer rain, a heron picking its way along a river band, neck held crooked at just such an angle—Mr. Leighton had an uncanny eye for detail.

The next book held not only vignettes of the countryside but of people as well.  There, with a fishing pole on his shoulder, head turned in profile, was a familiar face. The artist had captured the intensity of his gaze, the exact curl of his lips, the brooding look that rarely cleared from his brow. But who was the lovely lady walking beside him....

Someone gave a slight gasp.

“Oh!”  Caroline’s head came up with a start and color began to suffuse her features as she encountered Jeremy Leighton’s astonished stare. She let the cover fall closed. “Forgive me for being so rude as to look at your drawings uninvited.” She smiled tentatively. “I couldn’t help it—your work is marvelous. Really.”

The young man’s shoulders relaxed slightly but he was clearly uncomfortable with praise. “Thank you,” he mumbled, his gaze sliding to the floor.

She beckoned to the seat beside her. “Will you show me the rest of the drawings? That way, I’ll not feel so rag-mannered.”

When Jeremy didn’t move, she let the books drop in her lap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

He dropped the rough bundle of clothes he had tucked under his bad arm and came over to sit next to her. “No, please. Don’t think such a thing, miss. It’s just that...I suppose I have lost my manners, living alone,” he said haltingly.

 “Well then, perhaps we two churls may enjoy each other’s company without worrying about the niceties of polite society. And please, my name is Caroline.” She grinned and was heartened to see a ghost of a smile come to his own lips. Taking up the sketchbook she had been perusing, she opened it at the beginning. After turning through the first few pages with him, she paused and asked if he were acquainted with the work of a minor artist who had recently caused a stir at the Academy with his style.

 Jeremy’s eyes lit with interest. “You are familiar with his work?”

 She nodded and they began an animated discussion of the other man’s merits. By the time the page turned open to the sketch of Davenport, Jeremy had lost most of his reticence.

  “You have captured his lordship’s...intensity very well,” remarked Caroline. “Do you paint portraits as well?”

  “Occasionally. But I prefer landscapes. People are too much trouble.”

She wondered at the deliberate ambiguity of his answer, but forbore to comment on it. Instead she pointed at the delicate rendering of the lady. “Who is that beside Lord Davenport?”

  “Oh, that’s Lady Atherton.”

Caroline’s eyes lifted from the likeness. “The earl is married, then?” For some reason, the thought bothered her more than she cared to admit. Of course he was, she reminded herself. Hadn’t Mrs. Collins already intimated such a thing? How was it that the thought of it had seemed to slip her mind...

 “Julian? Good lord, no. That is his brother, the late earl’s wife.” Jeremy hesitated for a moment. “Though I sometimes think it was Julian who was in lo...”

  The door banged closed with a rattle. Davenport stalked across the room and placed a jug of cider and a package wrapped in oilskin down on the table with more force than necessary.

  “Have neither of you anything better to do that gaze at pictures?” he snapped. His eyes, so stormy they appeared nearly as charcoal as the lines in Jeremy’s drawings, turned to Caroline. “I thought you had a modicum of concern about reaching London in one piece. It appears Jeremy has found some new garments for you, so why are you dallying about instead of trying to make yourself halfway presentable. Lord knows, you couldn’t look any worse,” he added acidly, raking over her muddy cheeks and disheveled hair with a withering look.

 “Julian!” exclaimed Jeremy in a shocked tone.

“Don’t be angry with Mr. Leighton, sir. He found me stealing a look at his sketches and I asked that he be kind enough to allow me to continue. There is no need to get in such a pucker over it.” She couldn’t help but add, “It is no wonder you are taken with her—she’s quite beautiful.”

 Davenport’s hand slammed down on the rough wood. “That’s enough from you,” he said through gritted teeth.

 She regarded him calmly. “Indeed, I am now beginning to see the resemblance. You are looking nearly as nasty as that painting of you that hangs over your mantle.”

 A choked laugh caused both of them to turn towards Jeremy. “She’s right, you know,” he said. “Right now you are taking on an unfortunate resemblance to Charles.” As Davenport glowered, Jeremy smiled at Caroline. “How astute of you, Miss Caroline. Most people wouldn’t notice anything but the handsome face, but I —well, call it my little revenge on Charles.”

Caroline’s brows came together in confusion. “I don’t understand.  The man in the painting...”

 “Is Julian’s older brother—older by ten minutes.”

  “How long had he been...”

  “Four months.”

 Comprehension slowly dawned on her face. “Good lord,” she whispered. “Then you are not him. You are not the Earl of Davenport. I mean, you are—but you are not.”

 “Ah, well.” A note of irony tinged his voice. “It would appear that neither of us is what we seem.”

The earl turned on his heel and retreated to the adjoining room, slamming the door shut behind him.

“I hope I have not put you in his lordship’s bad graces.” She cast an aggrieved look towards the locked chamber. “I vow, he is the most ill-tempered, high-handed, exasperating gentleman I have ever met.”

Jeremy’s brows came together. “Julian? You have the wrong of it, Miss Caroline. He is the most steadfast, generous....” He paused and looked discomfited, as if feeling disloyal in discussing his friend behind his back. In a low voice he added, “I pray you make allowances for his behavior. He has been under considerable strain these past months.”

It was Caroline who felt a stab of guilt. No matter how shabby his manners, the earl had risked his life to rescue her this morning. He was being well paid for it, she reminded herself, but that still did not quell the feeling that somehow it was she who was showing to disadvantage. Arrogant and mercurial though he may be, there was also no question as to his courage or quick wits. What a maddeningly complex man. That only piqued her curiosity more.

“How do you know his lordship?” she asked. 

 “We became acquainted at Oxford. Though Julian is several years my senior, we found we shared mutual interests.” Lest she imagine the worst, he hastily added, “That is, we enjoyed discussing books and paintings.” Again he halted, as if debating whether to go on.