The Wild Child (8 page)

“What went wrong?” Her question was gentle as the sea breeze.

It was no accident that he’d never mentioned Dominic to Constancia. Even with her, the topic of his brother had been too painful to discuss. But the time for secrets was past. “As children we were always together, running wild at Dornleigh, studying with the same tutor. Sometimes we skirmished, but it was never important. The trouble started when we were sent to two different schools.”

“That must have been difficult.”

His hands tightened on the railing. He’d cried his first nights at Eton, until an older boy found out and taunted him in front of his classmates. Dominic had suffered no such problems at Rugby. He came home for the holidays bubbling with stories about his new life. Hurt that he no longer seemed important to his brother, Kyle withdrew into aloof silence, and their closeness suffered the first, fatal crack. “As the years passed, we had less and less in common. He had different friends, different interests.”

“Was your brother jealous because you were the heir?”

“That was part of it.” But resentment was too simple an explanation. Their father’s steward had taught both boys what a gentleman needed to know about running an estate. Kyle had endured those lessons because he must. Dominic, damn him, had enjoyed them. He’d pelted the steward and bailiff with questions, learned everything he could about crop rotations and stock breeding. And he had seethed because Dornleigh would go to Kyle, who had no great affinity for the land. “I’ve sometimes thought that we were born to the wrong stations. He should have been the heir, not me. I would have enjoyed the freedom of being a younger son.” He’d never admitted that to anyone.

“I see.”

Knowing Constancia, she did see, perhaps more than Kyle did himself. There had been other problems between him and his brother. The tension had increased inexorably until the final rupture, shortly before they turned eighteen. After that, they seldom saw each other, and never again spoke intimately. Their estrangement had taken place just before he met Constancia. Strange, how he’d never realized the significance of that. Dominic had left an aching hole in Kyle’s life. What would have become of him if Constancia had not been there to fill the emptiness?

The sea was a strange place, he decided. It caused odd ideas to blow through a man’s brain.
Chapter 7

Dominic and Meriel worked peacefully among the chess pieces until the sun was high in the sky. Then she gathered up her gardening tools in a handled canvas carrier and left without a glance in his direction, Roxana at her heels.

Abandoning his sacks of clippings to be collected by an undergardener, he grabbed his discarded coat and went in pursuit. As he fell into step beside her, he guessed that she was very aware of his presence, even though her gaze remained resolutely ahead. She had a lovely, delicate profile. In repose, her face looked pensive. A little remote, but not at all mad.

He took the tool carrier from her hand. She let him have it after an instant of resistance. Clearly she neither expected nor desired help. He said conversationally, “If you sing again, I’ll whistle along with you. I’m quite a good whistler.”

No response. He began to whistle anyhow, choosing the old ballad “Barbara Allen” because the minor-key tune reminded him of Meriel’s singing. She darted a swift glance at him, turning away before he could catch her gaze. Still, it was a response. Congreve was right—music had charms to soothe a savage breast. Not that Meriel was exactly savage—but neither was she civilized. She chose a route he hadn’t seen before, following a narrow gorge with a brook at the bottom. Shaded by tall trees, the path ran along the stream bank between drifts of late spring flowers. He stopped whistling to listen to the sounds of water trickling over stones and into pools. On a hot day, this little glen would be a perfect retreat.

“A lovely place,” he remarked. “Too perfect to be quite natural. The original gorge was carefully improved, I presume? You are mistress of the most remarkable gardens I’ve ever seen, Lady Meriel. This estate should have been called the Elysian Fields. That’s the abode of the blessed dead in Greek mythology. Did anyone ever read Greek myths to you when you were a child? The Greeks were a quarrelsome lot, but they left us wonderful stories.”

He had a brief flash of memory: he and Kyle acting out the Trojan War, when they were seven or eight. His brother was noble Ajax, while Dominic chose to be wily Odysseus. They’d been too young to recognize how characteristic their choices were.

Shaking off the image, he continued, “Shall I read to you in the evening, Meriel? I would enjoy that.” He liked the idea of bathing her in the great tales of classical literature. Perhaps such a flow of words would make a connection in her mind that would help bring her back to the world. He glanced again at that impassive, perfectly carved profile. Perhaps not; maybe the damage done to her as a child could never be repaired. It was so damned unfair.

No longer in the mood for a one-sided conversation, he fell silent until they reached the garden sheds. She went straight for the glass house. Inside, Kamal was tending to the pineapple plants. All the best houses grew pineapples to impress guests; Dornleigh had devoted half a glass house to their cultivation. Kamal glanced up casually at their entrance, his brows rising a little at the sight of Dominic. He had probably assumed that a pampered aristocrat wouldn’t last long trimming shrubs. Inclining his head respectfully, he said to Meriel, “You should eat something before going off again, milady.”

As Meriel gazed at him expectantly, the Indian moved down the aisle until he found a pineapple that pleased him. Then he pulled a glittering dagger from a sheath mostly concealed by the sash at his waist and harvested the pineapple from its spiky growth. After trimming off the bristly brown skin, he laid the fruit on a clean cutting board. A dozen wicked slashes of the dagger sliced the pineapple from its tough core into eating wedges. As he watched the expert knife work, Dominic made a mental note never to provoke Kamal’s temper.

With a courtly bow, the Indian offered the board of sliced fruit, juice oozing over the edges. “My lady. My lord.”

Meriel took a wedge and bit neatly into the golden flesh with small white teeth. Dominic took a piece also, but paused before eating. “Will you join us, Kamal?” When the Indian hesitated, Dominic added,

“Our Bible says that the oxen who tread out the grain should not be prevented from tasting the products of their labor. Surely that is even more true for a master gardener who grows such beautiful fruit.”

“You are gracious, my lord.” Kamal set the board on the adjacent workbench and took a slice of pineapple. Though his words were flawlessly polite, there might have been an edge of irony in his tone. The Indian didn’t seem like a man whose thoughts would ever be simple ones. Dominic bit into his wedge of pineapple. It was the finest he’d ever eaten, tart and sweet and luscious with juice. If he were ten years old, he would have moaned with pleasure. He barely refrained from doing so even at his advanced age. “Superb, Kamal.”

Apart from that comment, the three of them consumed the pineapple in silence. Dominic’s London friends would have laughed at the sight of him eating in a glass house with a foreign servant and a beautiful mad girl. Yet though it was hardly a normal luncheon, he enjoyed it immensely. After finishing her portion, Meriel turned and headed toward the far end of the glass house. Dominic asked, “Do you know what she plans on doing this afternoon?”

Kamal swallowed his last bite of pineapple. “No, my lord, though often she prefers a different kind of task from what she did in the morning.”

So probably no more pruning today. Dominic went after Meriel, who had halted by the pump in the far corner of the glass house. Seeing that it was awkward to work the handle and wash at the same time, Dominic took over the pumping, his hands bracketing her much smaller one. Accepting his help, Meriel washed and dried her hands on a shabby but clean towel that hung from a nail. She started to turn away, then hesitated as if a thought had struck her. Taking hold of the handle, she began to pump. He realized that she was returning the favor so he could wash his own hands. Oddly touched, he held them under the water and rinsed away juice and yew stains. “Thank you, Meriel.”

When he pulled his clean hands from the stream of water, she walked away with her customary lack of ceremony. Like a cat, she never looked back.

Her first stop was in the shed that her hedgehog called home. As she knelt beside the pile of burlap sacks, Snowball woke up and rolled onto his back so she could stroke his tender stomach. Dominic watched with amusement from the doorway. He hadn’t known that hedgehogs could smile. Well, he would himself if those strong, well-shaped hands were stroking his belly. The thought was a disturbing one, made more so when a lock of her glossy blond hair fell forward across the little animal. The pale strands were almost the same shade as Snowball’s albino spines. Would Kyle enjoy watching her play with a pet? Probably not. His twin was too restless, too impatient, for such small pleasures.

Meriel gave the hedgehog a last caress and rose gracefully from her kneeling position. Brushing by Dominic in the doorway as if he were invisible, she left the shed and headed toward the house. Falling into step beside her, he observed, “You have a gift for dealing with animals. Rather like Saint Francis of Assisi. I don’t suppose anyone ever told you about him, Francis being a Catholic saint, but I’ve always thought he’d be an interesting fellow to meet. They say wild creatures came to his hand, as tame as Roxana. He called them his brothers and sisters.”

Dominic had a sudden memory of a painting he’d once seen that showed Saint Francis sitting in a clearing, birds on his shoulder, foxes and deer and other beasts gathered around him. On the saint’s face was an expression as unworldly as Meriel’s. Maybe saints and madmen were close kin?

He continued his idle talk, telling his companion everything he knew about St. Francis. Though she never turned her head, he sensed that she was listening, though perhaps only to the rhythm of his voice rather than his words.

As they neared the stable block, he realized that he ought to exercise Kyle’s horse. “Would you like to meet Pegasus, Meriel?”

He touched her elbow to guide her into the open stable doors. She balked and almost pulled away. Guessing that she was afraid of horses, he said coaxingly, “He’s a splendid beast, named for a winged horse of Greek legend.”

With dragging feet, she accompanied him into the dim stable. Keeping a close eye on her, he asked, “Do you ride?” He scanned the unimpressive Warfield horses. “No, I don’t suppose so. There isn’t a decent riding hack here. Watch your step, now. Stables can be hazardous for bare feet.”

Pegasus stuck his head out of a box stall and whinnied for attention. As Meriel stopped beyond biting distance, Dominic greeted the horse, stroking the silky nose and promising a ride. He glanced at his companion. “He won’t harm you.”

The low light made it hard to read her expression, but her posture indicated that she was on the verge of bolting. “You love animals, and they love you,” he said softly. “Pegasus is a fine fellow, and he’d like to meet you.”

Step by hesitant step, she moved forward. Her face showed not exactly fear, but deep reluctance. He moved back, allowing her to approach her own way. Luckily, the horse was extremely good-tempered. Pegasus whuffled curiously, stretching out his neck toward Meriel. She tensed, then slowly raised her left hand and touched the white diamond on the horse’s dark forehead. Against Pegasus’s massive bulk, she looked pale and terribly fragile.

The horse nudged her shoulder enthusiastically. Even though the force of the movement almost knocked Meriel over, the tension eased from her body. Her other hand lifted to stroke the satiny neck. Dominic exhaled with relief. Horse and girl were going to be friends. Pegasus looked as happy under her touch as Snowball and Roxana did.

“Would you like to ride Pegasus?” When her hand stilled, he said, “With me, not on your own. I promise you’ll be safe.”

After a long, motionless interval, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the horse’s neck, the black mane mingling with her own pale hair. Deciding that was a yes, Dominic said, “Very well, we’ll take him out.”

She moved away as he led the horse from the stall and saddled up. Pegasus almost danced with anticipation as Dominic took him outdoors. Glancing at Meriel, he said, “Keep clear when I first mount him. He’ll be frisky from the lack of exercise.”

Frisky was an understatement. As soon as Dominic swung into the saddle, Pegasus leaped exuberantly into the air. Dominic barely managed to clamp his legs around the horse’s barrel in time to prevent himself from sailing across the stable yard. Perhaps that would have amused Meriel, but he had too much male pride to want that to happen in front of a pretty girl.

For several lively minutes, Pegasus worked off his high spirits in a series of bucks, twists, and kicks. Though there wasn’t a mean bone in his body, he wasn’t above testing his rider. Both of them enjoyed the process immensely until Dominic made it clear that it was time for the horse to behave. Grinning, he brought Pegasus to a demure halt facing Meriel. It was going to be hard to return the horse to his brother. Maybe Kyle would be willing to sell? Probably not, and the price would surely be a year of Dominic’s allowance.

During his bout with the horse, Meriel flattened herself against the stone wall of the stable, Roxana protectively close. She probably expected Dominic to get his brains dashed out on the cobbles. He wondered if she would care.

Collecting himself as he had collected the horse, he said calmly, “He’s ready to accept a lady, Meriel. Come.” He extended his hand.

He wouldn’t have bet a ha’penny on his chances of luring her onto the horse, but she moved forward slowly, keeping a wary eye on Pegasus’s iron-shod feet.

She paused an arm’s length away, and her throat worked as she swallowed hard. Swiftly, as if wanting to act before she could change her mind, she took Dominic’s hand and set her bare foot on his boot just in front of the stirrup. Smoothly he lifted, and she swung up behind him like thistledown. She settled down astride, her legs gripping the horse just behind his, and locked her slim arms around his waist. He glanced down and saw that her leg was bared to just above the knee. The sight combined with the warm pressure of her body sent a dangerously erotic charge through him. This position was entirely too intimate.