It Takes a Hero (17 page)

As if satisfied with her total, she shot him a dazzling smile. A sort of "oh, you'll do" look that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up higher than they had the time he'd accidentally ridden into a French cavalry unit camped near the Portuguese border.

He could see now why Jemmy avoided the lady. She held a spark of trouble about her worse than a match near a powder keg.

Yet if there was anyone who seemed to be the living embodiment of Miss Darby, it was Lady Victoria. She carried herself with immeasurable confidence and had an air of feminine mystique about her that would draw the men of London to her like moths to a flame.

But Rafe had crossed her off his list of suspects almost immediately. The girl was missing one thing that Miss Darby, and he suspected her creator both possessed—a certain spark of unrelenting passion and intelligence that would make the lady standout even in a room filled with Originals.

And those characteristics Lady Victoria did not possess. Rather, she wore her allure out like an array of colorful ribbons for all to see.

So why did his gaze keep straying in the direction of a nearly forgettable spinster in a shapeless muslin gown?

"How very nice to meet you, Mr. Danvers," Lady Victoria was purring as she eyed him once again. "But you must tell us why you've come to the quiet world of Bramley Hollow. You look like a man who would find country life rather, shall we say,
restraining
."

A coughing fit rose from Miss Tate's corner, interrupting Lady Victoria's flirtation.

"Dear me, Bex," the colonel was saying, "what the devil is caught in your craw?" He gave his niece a good pat on the back that sent her sputtering forward.

It didn't escape Rafe's notice that Miss Tate wasn't included in the chummy company of Charlotte Harrington and Lady Victoria. It was obvious she wasn't comfortable with them, nor they with her.

He knew exactly how she felt. Listed or not listed—English society was as particular as a Bath schoolmistress.

Lady Finch waved at Addison to bring Rebecca a drink, then she continued her introductions. "And you've already met Colonel Posthill, Lord Finch's cousin, as well as his dear niece, Miss Rebecca Tate." For the benefit of the others in the room, she added, "Yesterday in the village. Miss Tate was so kind as to give Mr. Danvers the directions he was seeking."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance again, Miss Tate," he said, bowing over her gloved fingers. He lingered a little too long there, for all too soon she was wrenching them out of his grasp.

"Yes, I suppose it is," she said. "I'm surprised to see you, sir, for I thought you were going back to London." Her eyes held the rest of her statement.
And please do so in all good haste
.

"Miss Tate!" Lady Victoria exclaimed, rising from her spot and coming to Rafe's defense. "Why would you want Mr. Danvers to leave when he's only just arrived?"

Rafe now found himself trapped between the two ladies. Help, female help that is, always came at a price. One he wasn't willing to discover. Besides, Lord Kirkwood looked capable of still firing a straight shot and the last thing he wanted to do was be called out by an irate father.

And besides the earl, there was also Colonel Posthill to consider. Rafe had to imagine that if the addlepated officer ever discovered what had happened at Bettlesfield Park, Rafe would find himself the victim of random cannon fire.

"I can't imagine why Miss Tate would want you to leave, do you, sir?" Lady Victoria asked, her hand wrapping into the crook of Rafe's elbow.

He tried to shake her off, but found himself anchored by the ingenious flirt.

Miss Tate glanced down at the other girl's possessive stance and smiled, though in Rafe's estimation it looked more like she was baring her teeth.

"I just find it unusual that he was bound for London yesterday, and here he is settled in for a cozy visit at Finch Manor," she said. "Nothing more than curiosity. Just as you were inquiring as to his reasons for being here." She turned to Rafe. "I don't believe you ever did answer Victoria's—"

"Lady Victoria, if you don't mind," the young woman said in frosty tones that echoed her mother's.

Rebecca nodded. "How forgetful of me,
Lady Victoria
. I fear you will always be just plain Victoria Manvell to me."

The room fell silent, as if a gauntlet had been thrown down.

"That's right," Kitling was saying. "You two came out together in Calcutta. I remember. Wasn't there some dust up over a lieutenant or some such scandal?"

Rebecca's cheeks pinked with embarrassment, while Lady Victoria's flamed with anger.

Lady Kirkwood stepped in immediately. "Scandal? I hardly think my daughter was ever—"

"Mother!" Lady Victoria hissed. "Please!"

Her mother glanced around, recognizing her daughter's unspoken reminder as to the extent of the company they were keeping, and she instantly recomposed herself with the cool disdain of one to the manner born. Then she steered the conversation back to where it had gotten off track. "Really, I don't see why Mr. Danvers is here is all that important. Suffice it to say that he is here and a guest of Lady Finch's." On that note she retook her seat, while her daughter returned to her place beside Charlotte.

Mrs. Harrington moved into the void, perhaps trying to cement her position with Lady Kirkwood, by saying, "I must say the girls look splendid together. What perfectly lovely additions you'll both make to this Season," she said to Charlotte and Lady Victoria.

"Oh, yes, our Season," Lady Victoria said, warming to the subject now that it revolved around her. "How delightful it will be to have my beloved Charlotte there. I had been so bereft at the notion of going to London without my dearest friend beside me." She smiled for the benefit of all. "I mean to see Miss Harrington well matched. After all, I do come from Bramley Hollow and we have a certain reputation to uphold."

"To town just like that? This is a surprise, Mrs. Harrington," Lady Finch said, settling down on a nearby chair. "I had thought you and Major Harrington had decided against going this year."

Mrs. Harrington smiled profusely. "I had thought so as well, but then the major came home this afternoon and declared we were off for London without any delay."

"How abrupt!" Lady Kirkwood fussed, sending a scandalized glance at the major, who paid her no heed because he was too busy glancing out the window.

"Oh, I'm quite used to it," Mrs. Harrington was saying. "Why I remember once in the West Indies we had less than an hour to leave our house. After a lifetime of following the drum, I've become quite adept at packing in haste."

Lady Kirkwood still looked doubtful at the entire proposition. "But where will you stay? Of course, we keep a house in town, but leases are quite hard to come by so late in the Season, especially in the
fashionable
neighborhoods."

"Actually we do have a house in town," Mrs. Harrington said. She made a ruffled little flip of her handkerchief. "In Mayfair."

"You don't say?" Lady Kirkwood said, as if she didn't believe a word of it. "How convenient."

"Yes. I inherited it from a distant cousin last year and as luck would have it, the tenants recently departed for Italy. The house is ours for the Season." She leaned forward and said softly, "We intend to give it to Charlotte when she weds."

Lady Kirkwood nodded approvingly.

"Season, you say? Time of year for that?" Colonel Posthill asked, wading into the female conversation with both feet. "Been thinking of sending Bex up to town to see how she'd fare. I know she's always wanted a Season."

Rafe shot a glance at Rebecca to find her flinching with embarrassment, her eyes shut and her hands balled at her sides. Unwittingly, her uncle had just shot her into enemy territory.

"A Season? For Miss Tate?" Charlotte declared, barely stifling a giggle. "Why she's too old!"

Lady Finch clamped her mouth shut, while Lady Kirkwood and Lady Victoria both colored. Obviously Charlotte had missed the point that Rebecca and Lady Victoria had come out together years earlier in Calcutta.

"Don't think of Bex as old," the colonel said. "A bit stodgy at times, but I don't know about being too old. Especially when all she's after is some nice, respectable vicar. They have those in town don't they?"

Charlotte dissolved into giggles, while Lady Victoria's nose poked in the air at such meager matrimonial expectations.

But the worst of all was Rebecca. She'd blushed a deep shade of red, her mortification and humiliation running to the bone. Rafe couldn't stand to see her standing there, enduring Charlotte Harrington and Lady Victoria's taunts.

Wasn't anyone going to save her?

And before he realized what he was doing, he stepped to her defense.

"How can someone as fair as Miss Tate be too old?" Rafe asked. "Nonsense! Why I think Miss Tate will be declared an Original before her first ball. She has those rare qualities that will always hold her in good stead, while lesser women, younger women," he made these statements in the general direction of Victoria and Charlotte, "could only hope to have such a luminary quality. They will fade, while Miss Tate will continue to rise each night with the radiance of a full moon." His praise was met with stunned silence. "At least that was what I told Cochrane here after I met her yesterday."

"Oh, that he did," Cochrane chimed in. "Said she was a rare one." The boy grinned, leaving off the rest of what Rafe had called the gamine spinster.

The colonel grinned. "Aye, that's my Bex. A rare one indeed."

Rebecca stared at Rafe openmouthed, as did the rest of the ladies.

"Mr. Danvers, you are a rakish devil," claimed Miss Honora. "Teasing us all. Not that our Rebecca doesn't deserve such high esteem, but you are a charmer, that is certainly evident." Shooing Sydney up from his spot, she patted the sofa beside her. "Do come over and tell us the latest news from town. For I would wager that you know some deliriously naughty
on dits
that they never put in the gossip columns and Lady Finch is too much of a lady to reveal."

He crossed the room, willing himself not to look at Rebecca as he passed her. But look he did and their gazes met for a furious second.

One question blazed in her eyes.
Why did you come to my defense?

And if they were alone, he would have confessed the truth. Because he couldn't forget her kiss—her lips pressed to his. The way her body molded against him as if seeking shelter from a tempest. And what a wild tempest it was, blowing aside reason, pulling from the depths of his heart a stormy conflict to which he'd thought himself immune.

And as he'd continued to kiss her, even against his better judgment, he'd found himself running his fingers through the stray tendrils of her silken hair, tracing a line down her jaw, along the trembling pulse of her neck, down to the rounded curves of her…

"Mr. Danvers?" Miss Honora asked politely, again patting the sofa.

"Oh, I'm sorry Miss Honora," he said, bowing slightly in apology "I fear you caught me woolgathering."

"Men are apt to do that in my company," the coquettish lady mused.

Her sister made an inelegant snort. "More likely a touch of sun, for we saw you ride by earlier and thought you most daring to venture out without an appropriate
chapeau
."

"I thought you looked devilishly handsome," Miss Honora added. "Now do tell us about yourself. We have few stories to offer but I suspect you are a man of great deeds. You have the stance and seat of a military man. I said it the moment I saw you ride by, didn't I, Alminta?"

"Yes, but then you do have a passion for a red coat and a jaunty tricorn."

"That I do." Honora was anything if not persistent, for she went right back to her inquiries. "Were you in the war?"

Rafe shifted. His military service wasn't something he liked to call attention to, especially amongst society. At best they viewed him as a deserter, at worst a rank coward to be shunned.

"Danvers? Danvers?" Mrs. Harrington piped up. "I thought that name was familiar. William, wasn't there a Major Danvers in Spain?"

"Yes. One of Wellington's information officers." Major Harrington replied, returning to his nervous pacing about the room.

Rafe wondered if the man was always so agitated.

"My brother, madame," he demurred. "He is now the Marquis of Bradstone."

"And married to my dear Mrs. Keates," Lady Finch. "Three secretaries before Mrs. Radleigh."

Mrs. Radleigh held up four fingers.

"But there was another one," Mrs. Harrington persisted, her finger tapping her ample chin. "Another Danvers in the Peninsula."

He should have known that while the major didn't remember him, Mrs. Harrington would. Army wives possessed memories as long and as deadly as the Corunna retreat.

"Don't you remember, William?" Mrs. Harrington persisted. "He struck his commanding officer and then ran off with a band of those Spanish devils." The woman gave her audience a moment's pause. "Not that it wasn't to be expected, he was half—" she glanced up at Rafe, her gaze taking in his dark features and pitch black eyes and her lofty words fell to a dead stop.

"Spanish?" Rafe finished for her.

"Yes, I daresay," she managed, her handkerchief pressed to her lips.

"Oh, you're Spanish?" Miss Honora asked, sounding only too disappointed. "I had thought, well really hoped, you were a gypsy."

Lady Finch groaned at this notion. The poor lady could see the tabbies in London having a field day with such a report.

I hear tell poor Evaline is entertaining Gypsies and nabobs. I fear she's gone around the bend.

Rafe explained his circumstances. "My mother was Spanish, my father was Lord Danvers."

"I don't recall
Debrett's
listing a Spanish wife," Mrs. Harrington said, as if she was beginning to doubt his entire legitimacy.

Lady Finch stepped in to fill the scandal ridden silence. "Lord Danvers was a very distinguished diplomat," she explained. "So I am sure the omission of his second wife was purely a mistake due to his long years out of the country, serving our dear King with such fortitude and dedication," she said, promoting her guest's connections with her whole heart.