Broken Wing (35 page)

Sarah arrived at the old earl’s estate just before sunset. Located close to Winchester, the house was an impressive stone edifice, perched on a slight rise and surrounded by lush wooded parkland that sloped down to a lazily meandering river. To her left, she could see a great arched roof topping a sizable stable built of dressed stone and surrounded by white fenced paddocks. It was cool for November, and there was a damp metallic taste in the air.

The butler greeted her with a look of disdain. She ought to have worn something other than breeches and boots, she supposed, but it was her habit to choose comfort over style, particularly when traveling. She was here on business rather than pleasure, and Ross’s friends were not usually sticklers for protocol. Ross had certainly made no complaint regarding her attire when he saw her off, although he may have been so relieved to see her active again that he simply hadn’t noticed. If the earl was offended, it was likely to be a short visit, and at the moment that suited her. She would prefer to be
well-settled in the London town house if a storm hit.

“What is … madam’s business?” the man inquired, his voice dripping with distaste.

“My business is no concern of yours. It is with the earl,” she replied crisply, looking about the spacious entrance hall. Really, one would think she wasn’t expected! Indeed, the butler’s manner bordered on outright hostility! She had hoped to avoid bad food and bedbugs, and the discomfort of sleeping in an inn, but it wasn’t looking very promising. Looking down the hall through a gilt-framed arch, she could just see into the dining room. It appeared to be filled with a merry and boisterous company. There were loud bursts of raucous laughter, and high-pitched feminine shrieks and squeals. Sarah blinked in surprise. The old earl seemed to be recovering. He certainly seemed to enjoy his revelry.

“Please, my good man, simply tell his lordship the Coun—”

“Barstow, what seems to be the problem?”

“This …
person
, claims to be expected, my lord.”

Sarah glanced back and forth between the walls, hung with numerous equestrian pictures, and the man who had emerged from the dining room and was sauntering toward her. She seemed to be in the right place, but this couldn’t possibly be the old earl. He had chiseled features, a full cruel mouth, and tousled blond hair curling about his ears. His coat was unbuttoned in glorious disarray, and a half-naked woman was wrapped
around his waist. Leaning tipsily against his bountiful companion, one hand absently caressing a naked breast, he tilted his head and looked at her askance.

“Well, my fair Cyprian, what manner of gift are you? Who sent you, my love?” He eyed her slowly up and down with an appreciative smile.

She should have been outraged, or at least deeply offended, but she found herself responding to the spark of humor and mischief in his laughing blue eyes. “My parents and my nurse used to tell me I was a gift from God, my lord, but, of course, parents are notably partial to such fancies.”

“Are they? I don’t recollect so myself. Have you come to grace our company, my dear? Because I do believe I should prefer to keep you for myself. You’ll find I’m generously proportioned in both my purse and my parts,” he added with a wicked grin.

“How wonderful for you, my lord, and for your lovely companion,” Sarah said with a laugh, glancing pointedly at his pouting mistress. “But, in fact, I came to see your stud. I seem to have come at an inconvenient time however, I do beg your pardon.”

Killigrew, if that’s who he was, grinned broadly and waved toward the dining room, where sounds of revelry continued unabated. “Not at all my dear, your timing is impeccable. They are all gathered here to dine. Won’t you join us?”

“I think not, my lord. That was not the stud I had in mind,” she said with a slight smile. “I will find an
inn in town. Would it be convenient were I to call upon you sometime tomorrow?”

He regarded her with some puzzlement now. “I begin to fear there’s been some misunderstanding. You are not one of my Falmouth relatives come to call, are you? An aunt or a cousin, perchance?”

“No, my lord,” she said, bursting into laughter. “I am Sarah, Lady Munroe. My brother Ross, the Earl of Huntington, received a correspondence inviting him to visit your stables. He asked me to come in his stead. Were you not expecting me?”

“Huntington’s little sister? Good Lord, you’re the one they call the Gypsy Countess! Indeed, no, you are most unexpected,” he said, pulling free of his blowsy
inamorata
, and waving the sulky armful away.

“And you, I assume, are not the old earl.”

“Good heavens no, Countess. I am the notorious earl, the one they all whisper about.”

“Ah! The cursed Killigrew.”

“You have heard of me!”

“You are the favorite topic to be avoided when visiting in Falmouth.”

“How amusing that two such infamous people should meet only now. I beg you to accept my most humble apologies, Countess. Barstow, whatever possessed you to leave Lady Munroe standing about? Call a footman for her bags, and make arrangements for the comfort of her servants at once.”

A voice rose above the din from the dining room,
as the flustered butler made haste to redeem himself. “I say! Killigrew! What the devil’s keeping you?” A head poked out into the hall. “Ah, a new ladybird! Should have known. Do share. Bring your fancy skirt to the party so we all may enjoy her charms.”

“Barstow!”

“My lord?”

“Do go and shut that lot up. Immediately, if you please.”

“Of course, my lord, my lady.” He bowed to each of them in turn and walked purposely down the hall, bowing to the company in the dining room, before firmly closing the doors.

“Again, my apologies, Lady Munroe,” the earl said, eyeing her clothing with thinly veiled appreciation. “But you were not expected, and not quite what one expects.”

“Neither are you, my lord. You needn’t trouble your man. Winchester is but four miles away.”

“I wouldn’t hear of it, my dear!. It’s full dark now, and the roads are no longer safe. Your brother would have my head should any harm befall you. This evening’s company is unfit for a lady, but you happen upon the last evening of carousing, I assure you. They are helping me celebrate the old bas—the old fellow’s death, and my new inheritance, you see.” He gave her a charming grin. “They will all drink themselves to sleep and depart for London in the morning. If you will indulge me this evening, I will see to my guests and
have Barstow make you and your servants comfortable, and I’ll be delighted to meet with you tomorrow and show you the stables.”

“Very well,” Sarah said, too tired after ten hours of knocking about in a coach to argue. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

“De rien, Madame,”
he said, buttoning his coat, and gallantly offering her his arm.

He escorted her to a comfortably furnished salon. A fire cracked merrily in the hearth, and he waited with her as a maid prepared her a room. They exchanging pleasantries about her trip and the weather, and he watched with interest as she hungrily devoured the meal Barstow had brought her.
The Gypsy Countess!
It was true that she dressed as man, and a very fetching little gamine she made, indeed. The style was most becoming.

What else might be true? Her lusty appreciation of her food gave rise to the hope she was lusty in her other appetites, as well. He had every intention of finding out. Bored and jaded, no woman had stirred his interest so keenly in quite some time. Chuckling in appreciation, he bade her good evening, and returned to his guests. The vicious old bastard dead, a title and a prosperous estate, and an uncommon beauty fetched up on his doorstep, ripe for the plucking. Things were looking up. He should really try his hand at cards.

Sarah slept late, had breakfast, and went to find the library. The new earl had come as quite a surprise. She’d been expecting his grandfather! She had heard of William Killigrew, of course. A notorious rake, he was said to be a dedicated voluptuary who had once cheated on his mistress, the Countess of Strafford, with both her sister
and
her aunt. It was even rumored that he’d bedded all three of them at the same time! Well, he’d certainly seemed to be enjoying himself last evening. She had to admit though, that despite her better judgment she’d found his charming grin and mischievous eyes quite appealing. Sought after as a lover, he was shunned as potential husband due to his poor financial prospects, and some unfortunate Irish ancestry on his mother’s side. With a title and a fortune, all that was about to change. She almost felt sorry for him.

The earl found her in the late afternoon, curled up in a comfortable chair by the fire, reading. “I am very sorry to have kept you waiting, my dear. The last of my guests has just departed. It was beastly difficult getting them to leave. I had to tell them the cook’s taken ill and the wine’s gone sour, before they’d bestir themselves back to London. What are you reading?” Sarah held up the book she was holding in her hands.

“Ah,
Robinson Crusoe!
Rather an adventurous story for a lady, isn’t it? I had thought the fairer sex generally
more inclined to the gossip and fashion journals.”

“Did you, indeed? Perhaps your knowledge of the fairer sex is more limited than you imagined, my lord.”

“Touché
, my dear. Please call me William.”

“As you wish, William,” she said with a sweet smile. “And you may call me,
Lady
Munroe.”

“Indeed, Lady Munroe,” he said, grinning and offering her his arm. “Shall I show you the stables now?”

As they toured the stables, Sarah was amazed at the opulence around her. The stalls were made from teak, with polished brass posts, and the names of the horses were engraved on marble plaques.

“Very impressive, is it not, my lady?”

“Indeed so, William, although it seems a trifle … excessive. What will you do with it all?”

“Why, I intend to throw it all away in an extended orgy of debauch and dissipation.”

“Ah! I see. I wonder if you might consider selling some of your horses, to fund these projected works, my lord.”

“Do you know, my dear, I hadn’t really thought about it. The stud is the only part of the estate that holds any interest for me, and the only thing about my late grandfather I admired.”

They continued to talk as they wandered the stable and paddock. It soon became clear to Sarah that Killigrew was no mere dilettante. He knew his way around
horses, and his appreciation of the old earl’s discernment in matters of horseflesh was equal to her own. “You were not fond of your grandfather?”

“Our relationship had warmed over the years to a cordial hatred. He must be spinning in his grave now that I’ve inherited. It was all supposed to go to my cousin, you see, but he failed in his duty and died not three weeks after my grandfather, leaving me as the only surviving heir.”

They continued touring the property, talking easily about horses and breeding principals and the relative merits of the more popular London racehorses and jockeys. Killigrew was surprised at how knowledgeable the countess was in such matters, and the ease with which he found himself discussing things of more personal nature. Ambling about in easy camaraderie, they lost track of time, and it wasn’t until the wind had picked up, the sky was darkening, and fat, wet, sloppy flakes of snow were tapping against their faces and hair, that they hurried back to the house.

Sarah felt a sense of anticipation as she went down to meet him for dinner at eight. She had chosen to wear a becoming redingote of hunter green velvet. The dress was out of fashion, but very flattering. It occurred to her that she had been flirting outrageously all afternoon, and that she was without a chaperone, alone in the home of a notorious rake. Oh, well,
she
was a notorious widow, and despite his lurid reputation, he’d certainly behaved as a gentleman ever since he’d
learned her identity. In any case, she was enjoying herself for the first time in a very long while. She’d be on her way in the morning, and she saw nothing wrong with enjoying the company of a handsome and charming man tonight.

William’s eyes gleamed with appreciation across the table. He dared to hope the dress was in honor of him. The color was most becoming, setting off her amber eyes and honeyed complexion to perfection. Her chestnut hair tumbled around her shoulders and spilled down her back in glorious disarray, catching the flame from candlelight and hearth, suffusing her with a warm, alluring glow. He swallowed and clenched his hand around his glass. She was magnificent! She had a bold freedom of spirit, and easy laughter that put a man at his ease. By the end of dinner he was smitten. He’d intended to sample her briefly and add her to his long list of conquests, but his plans had changed. The Gypsy Countess was going to be his mistress.

They stayed at table talking, until close to eleven. Outside, the snow and wind battered against the windows, rattling the windowpanes, and encompassing the house in an impenetrable blanket of stinging white pellets. Warm and cozy inside, they made their way
to the comfortably appointed library to share a brandy, and play a hand of whist.