The Hired Hero (8 page)

 Davenport turned to stare down the dirt farm track. His jaw clenched and the sparks in his eyes betraying the war that was raging within. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I apologize,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “That was an unpardonable remark.” He shook his head in disbelief. “The chit steals my horse and here I am apologizing,” he continued to himself. His fingers moved absently to his cheekbone and began to massage the thin white line running across it.

Caroline slanted him a sideways glance. “I’m sorry as well. I know I...provoked you. Truly, I did not wish to steal your horse, but you wouldn’t help me. I had no choice. You don’t understand—I have to get away from here.” Her hands tightened in her lap. “Right now.”

Davenport let out a exasperated sigh. “We will discuss this in a more suitable place. Will you be all right for a moment while I fetch Nero?”

 A strangled sound came from Caroline. He  thought for a moment that she was finally succumbing to girlish hysterics then realized she was trying not to laugh.

“Oh, tell me a man of your reputation didn’t really name his horse Nero,” she managed to say in answer to his quizzical look.

 His lips twitched at the corners. “One must have a sense of humor to survive in this world.”

Caroline wasn’t sure the earl’s study was exactly the spot she would have chosen for their confrontation. He looked even more forbidding seated behind the massive oak, hands steepled him on the tooled blotter, stormy blue eyes crashing into her like waves against the strand. It was uncomfortably familiar, having faced her father under similar situations on countless occasions. Besides, there was the little matter of...

 “And now, Miss—.” There was an emphatic pause, which he drew out like a duelist unsheathing a rapier. His voice, though low, was equally sharp. “Kindly put an end to the theatrics. If you wish to continue enacting a Cheltenham tragedy, join Mrs. Siddons on the boards—I will not tolerate it any longer under my roof. I mean to know who you are, and I mean to know it now.”

It was only at the last sentence that the volume rose drastically. But if the desired effect was to reduce the young lady seated before him to flinging herself at his feet in contrition and immediately confessing her identity, he had sadly miscalculated his own oratorical skills.

Caroline’s head hunched down towards her shoulders and her face took on an expression that one of the brasher young grooms at Roxbury had characterized as “mulish.”

There was nothing but silence.

Davenport’s gaze continued to wash over her, the blue of his eyes darkening to a scudding gray. His fingers began drumming on the  scarred wood. When it became evident that words were not forthcoming, he rose and slowly walked to stand beside her chair. Caroline was not lacking in stature herself, but from where she was seated, the earl seemed to tower over her, his broad shoulders and powerful torso only reinforcing the appearance of holding the upper hand. She imagined that was the intention.

The nerve of the man, to think he could bully her with his ultimatums!

 She resolutely refused to look up at him. Instead, she locked her gaze on the first item on his desk that caught her eye. As she focused in on it, she found that for the second time that morning she had to strangle the urge to laugh. It was a book. On the breeding of sheep.

“Well?” It came out as a baritone rumble.

“It is you, sir, who may stop the histrionics. They do not intimidate me. I will not tell you my name. It is of no concern to you in any case.”

 Outrage flared in Davenport’s breast. “When I am forced to drag some half dead chit out of the mud, have her nursed back to health at an expense I can ill afford, only to have her steal my property...”

 Caroline had the grace to color.

“... then it damn well is my concern. I mean to have your name, make no mistake about it.”  His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I should just haul you into the village—it seems there I should learn who you are soon enough.”

Caroline shot up from her chair. “The only mistake I have made is landing on the doorstep of a profligate wastrel who has squandered his last farthing on drinking and gaming and...and other pursuits, no doubt, instead of taking care of his responsibilities, like a true gentleman. Why, it seems you are insensible to even the most basic decencies of your class, like helping a lady in distress, you—you odious man!”

Davenport’s patience, already dangerously frayed, snapped. For weeks he had borne the shrill demands of countless creditors, the suspicious looks of his tenants, the whispered innuendos of his neighbors. More nights that he cared to remember he had struggled with the ledger books, fighting against despair to come up with a way to restore his estate and family name to respectability. She spoke of common decencies—what of Helen! To be so cavalierly accused by a chit barely out of the schoolroom, with no acquaintance of him except through rumor, was too much to bear, especially when she owed him her very life. How dare she speak to him like that?

His hand came up in the air.

Caroline flinched, more at the look in his eyes than from the threat of physical violence. They were flooded with anger, but there was some more. In their depths was expression of intense pain.

Davenport caught himself. Is that how it began, he wondered. A simple loss of temper that suddenly moves from thought to deed.  The bruises on the face before him, though lightened, were still very much in evidence, ugly, raw reminders of somebody else’s anger. He thought of Helen’s face, how similar the damage looked. Except her eyes did not spark with spirit anymore as this young lady’s did. How many times did it take to beat the will out of another person? He jaw clenched. And why would someone filled with life and humor and dreams allow it?

The thought of how easy it would have been to cross the line make him nearly ill. Was he really not so very different from Charles after all? He had never been so utterly ashamed of himself. His hand fell to his side and he moved slowly around to slump into his chair. Running his hand through his hair, he turned to stare, unseeing, into the cold black coals of the unlit fireplace.

 “What would you have me do?” he asked in a voice barely above a whisper. “I have a small sum...”

Caroline cleared her throat. “Ahh...actually sir, you do not.” She took the leather purse she had removed from the earl’s desk earlier that morning out of the pocket of her jacket and laid it in front of him.

For a brief moment, Davenport wondered if he was beginning to lose his sanity. He stared at it, speechless. Then he threw back his head and began to laugh.

It was a pleasant sound, a rich mellifluous baritone that rang true to the ear. She also noticed that he really had the most expressive eyes. Just then they had softened, the color lightened by humor to a hue as airy as the sky. Minutes before, when he had been so angry, they had been as impervious as slate. There was a raw complexity too, but never the cold, calculated cruelty depicted by the painting in the next room.

The sound of his laughter trailed off and his face took on an expression of bemused resignation. “Seeing as I am at my wit’s end, perhaps you have some idea as to how to proceed.” His glance traveled over her breeches and boots once more. “You seem to have no lack of imagination.”

Caroline sat down abruptly. “As a matter of fact, I do have a proposal.”

 His mouth twitched at the corners. “I rather thought you might. Well, let’s have it.”

She squared her shoulders. “You are obviously in dire need of funds. I am in dire need of reaching a certain destination without further delay. So I propose a partnership of sorts. If you will help me get there, I will pay you very well.”

“And just where are you going?”

Caroline hesitated for a moment. There was little sense on prevaricating on that point. “London.”

“How much?”

“A thousand pounds.”

Davenport gave a bark of laughter. “Good lord, are you truly intent on making a monkey of me this morning? Or have you received another knock on the head, one that has caused you take leave of your senses?” He shook his head. “A thousand pounds, indeed.”

“It is no joke, sir,” said Caroline indignantly. “I promise you, when we reach London you shall have it.”

 He merely chuckled. “Yes, I shall eat gooseberry tarts perched atop Parliament, too.”

“You doubt my word?”

 He stopped laughing.

 “Do you?” she persisted. “No doubt you would not think of insulting a man’s honor by refusing to accept his word.”

 The earl’s brows came together thoughtfully. “Hmmm.” Once again his fingers began drumming on the desk as he mulled over her words. The fact of the matter was, he needed to pay a visit to his man of affairs in town at some point soon. And even though the odds were her offer was merely a desperate ploy, in the event that her family would be grateful—he could sorely use a thousand pounds. But there was something else as well, something oddly touching about her pluck....

“Let me make sure I understand you,” he said very slowly. “You wish to hire me to escort you to London, for which service I will receive one thousand pounds?”

 “That is correct, my lord.”

“Very well, we have a deal, Miss...”

“My name is Caroline.”

 “Truly?”

 She nodded. “Yes, but other than that I shall not say.”

 His lips pursed but he did not argue. He merely leaned back in his chair and leveled her with a piercing gaze. “Now that my role is little more than a hired lackey, have you given any thought as to how we may travel to London?  I take it you have inspected the stables well enough to know I wasn’t telling you a hum when I said there is no carriage.” He picked up the meager purse and let it drop again. “I doubt there is enough for two fares on the mail coach, even if we take outside passage.”

 “But you have two horses. And they are already saddled.”

 “You have no proper riding clothes and—you can’t mean...”

 “That’s exactly what I mean. It is the simplest and quickest means. I shall be your groom. Trust me, I’m quite good at pulling it off. Luc— a male cousin has on occasion taken me to mills and a tavern with no one the wiser.

He closed his eyes. “He should be birched.” There was a slight pause. “You are serious, aren’t you?”

“Have you another idea?” she challenged. When he didn’t answer, her mouth set in a line of grim satisfaction. “Besides,” she added. “No one will be looking for two men traveling east. Come, let’s not waste any more time.”

Davenport pushed back from his desk. “Do you mind if I have my damn breakfast first?” he snapped irritably. “Then I intend to pack a valise. And shave.” His eyes strayed once again to her garb. “I suppose we ought to take another look in the attic as well. You’ll need...some other things if we are to carry on with this harebrained idea.” He shook his head slowly. “I should be birched, though I fear I shall face far worse before this is all over.”

She smiled sweetly. “Of course, please see to anything you feel is necessary, my lord. As long as we are ready to leave in, say, forty five minutes?”

He stalked from the room, muttering darkly under his breath.

* * * *

Caroline took a sip of tea and nibbled at a piece of toast from the tray that the earl had sent in to her. It seemed Fortune had looked kindly on her at last. Despite her boast to the earl, the thought of traveling alone, disguised as a man, having to brave the ostlers, the common rooms, the long stretches of deserted roads was a daunting, if not terrifying thought. It would be nice to have a companion, however ill-tempered.

Good lord, he had been angry, angry enough to strike out at her. She would not have blamed him if he had, for she knew she had goaded him unmercifully with her quick tongue. Her lips compressed ruefully as she recalled how many times both her father and Lucien had warned her that a lady must learn to curb her emotions or risk placing herself beyond the pale. But the earl had held back. Some emotion she couldn’t decipher had flickered through his eyes at the last minute, holding him back. It was as if he was...ashamed of his actions.

 That puzzled her. A rakehell wasn’t supposed to have any emotions, at least not any decent ones. Or perhaps she had misunderstood Lucien’s whispered explanations on the subject—it was so annoying having to depend on someone else’s experiences for information. Regardless, it appeared the Earl of Davenport was not entirely without feeling. He could very well have let her slip to her death under the pounding hooves and not a soul would have blamed him. And then, his arm around her waist had been nearly gentle as he had helped her recover. It was all so very confusing. Even now, though he had stalked from the room in an ill temper, he had been thoughtful enough to send breakfast in to her.

She let her breath out in a sigh. No doubt it was best not to dwell on it overly—especially those interesting eyes and pleasant laugh. All she should care about was whether he could bring her safely to town, nothing else.

A sharp rap came on the library door. Davenport stuck his head into the room, making a point of letting his gaze linger on the clock on the mantel.

“Are you ready? Or, like most females, do you mean forty five minutes to indicate we won’t be leaving until after noon?”

Caroline brushed the crumbs from her breeches as she stood up and shrugged into her coat. The earl waited as she paused by the mirror to tuck her hair up under the wool cap, then turned on his heel, leaving her to follow in his wake. He ignored the incredulous looks from both Mrs. Collins and Owens as the two of them strode through the entrance hall. Caroline managed a brief smile, then shot forward to keep the heavy oak door from slamming on her nose.

Outside, Davenport flung a leather portmanteau over Nero’s flanks, then tied a another set of bags at the back of the other horse’s saddle. As he turned, he noticed Caroline looking with longing at the stallion.

“Don’t even think of it,” he growled.

Caroline sighed and let him give her a leg up onto the smaller mount. “My lord,” she ventured as she set her boots into the stirrups. “I have one other question—are you armed?”