Minor Indiscretions (16 page)

Corey stood in the clearing, sunlight on his pale hair, his coat slung over a tree branch, and his white shirt open at the neck. Melody caught her breath, reminded of her first sight of him in Barstow's inn yard when she thought he looked like a sculpted god. The crooked smile he wore today was all too human and all too manly for her suddenly racing heartbeat. In his hands, when her eyes got past the broad shoulders and the tanned vee of his chest, was her gift: a lightweight, twin-barrel, nearly recoilless, modern rifle, with embossed silver plates on the stock. A lady's hunting weapon, and all for her! To think that the last gift Miss Ashton had received was Mingleforth's
Rules of Polite Decorum—
and she had hit Lord Coe with it! Tears came to Melody's eyes, and she fumbled for her handkerchief.

"Well, I am glad to see that at least Harry and the twins liked my gifts," Corey teased to give her time to recover. Harry was wearing his cap and had likely slept in it, and the twins were clutching their baby dolls. They were, at any rate, until one of the dolls started to squeal and kick, demanding to be set down. First one and then the other piglet ran off, bonnets and all, the twins, Harry, and Angie in chase behind. Melody's troops were deserting her, and so was her willpower to resist Corey's enchantments.

"If this is some kind of bribe, my lord," she began, only to be brought up short by his laughing denial.

"What a suspicious lady you are, Miss Ashton. Didn't I tell you to trust me? The gun is only a gift, to show my appreciation for all you've done, and to atone for whatever aggravation or distress I may have caused you. I thought all women liked gifts."

Melody glanced quickly to Meggie and Pip; they were happily setting up the painted cloth target Lord Coe had also brought. "But it is much too costly. I cannot accept—"

"Now you are sounding like Philip. Don't be a peahen, Angel, I bought it for my own self-defense. Can't have you blundering around so close to the Oaks with that unwieldy antique you were trying to use. I thought I could show you how to shoot."

He thought he might give her pointers, did he? Melody walked over to the round target. "Come away, children, Lord Coe is going to teach me how to use the gun." Philip cleared his throat, and Meggie started to say, "But, Uncle Corey—" until Melody clapped her hand over the child's mouth.'

Corey demonstrated how to load the rifle, speaking simply enough for Meggie's understanding, then paced off a short distance. No need to tax her skill, he said, just hitting the target would be enough for starters.

"Oh dear, yes," Melody agreed, trying to recall even half of Felice's affectations. Perhaps she could develop the other girl's knack of looking up at a man and batting her eyelashes. No, Melody was too tall. Instead she stood limply, permitting the viscount to position her hands properly on the rifle. Then he stood behind her, his arms around hers, holding the gun up. Oh dear, indeed! What had she gotten herself into?

Her back was against his chest, her cheek was brushed by the thin fabric of his shirt sleeve, her fingers were wrapped in his, and she was enveloped in the fresh lemon and spice scent of him. Melody never noticed that the viscount's voice was a trifle ragged as he tried to remember the instructions for aiming a rifle. Instead, she noticed how his words rumbled in his chest and how his breath ruffled the hair near her ear, so close to his mouth. Why, if she turned slightly…

"And squeeze back slowly on the trigger like… so."

The gun's boom brought Melody back to earth, that and the need to make sure her knees were still supporting her when the viscount withdrew his arms to check the target.

"We'll have to work on your aim, I'm afraid, if you can miss at this distance."

Aim? Had she been aiming? Melody smiled sweetly and wondered if she could try the next shot by herself, to get a better feel for the weapon, she said. The rifle was so light she overcompensated, and her shot hit the outer ring, which his lordship thought was just wonderful. He winked at Pip, who almost choked.

Melody fumbled the reloading, and then asked Meggie if she could spare two of the sticky buns.

"Shouldn't we wait for after the lesson, Miss Ashton?" Corey prompted.

"This is the lesson," she replied. "Ready, Pip?" She raised the rifle and called "One." The toss.
Boom
"Two." The toss.
Boom
.

Viscount Coe threw his head back and laughed, bowed to Melody, and brushed crumbs off his shirt.

If the viscount's intention was to confuse Melody, he succeeded. He did not behave like any London beau she imagined, idle and bored, spending hours over his dress and food. Nor did he seem to seek out low company for carousing or gambling. He acted the gallant flirt for Mama and Felice, the affectionate uncle to the children and, as promised, the warm friend to Melody. She just could not figure out why.

For the next few days, the viscount was everywhere. He gave the twins and Meggie turns riding in front of him on Caesar and oversaw one of his grooms' instruction of Harry on a docile mare. He asked Lady Ashton to accompany him on calls to the local gentry, in his carriage, of course, the one with the crest on the door. He played chess with Pip and discussed the boy's reading; he partook of make-believe teas with the little girls and make-believe teases with Felice. When he came upon Melody and Harry trying to mend the hogs' pen, again, he took off his jacket and started pounding fence posts. Corey could have called for one of his grooms instead of getting his hands dirty, but he pounded away in the hot sun until those pigs wouldn't have dared escape. He did not have to take Ducky for a ride or sit on the floor rolling balls with him for hours, and he did not have to accompany Miss Ashton when she went hunting.

Corey did not even bring along a gun, he showed that much confidence in Melody, but he did have some hints about training Angie, like leaving the impossible mutt home. The viscount wasn't patronizing at all about the woods lore he could teach Melody from his own experience, claiming he was only passing on the information because he was fond of rabbit stew. Naturally, he had to be invited to supper.

Lady Ashton was no longer wilted, Meggie was getting tan from following the viscount around all day, Pip was losing his stutter. The Oaks was getting ready for company, and Melody… ? Melody was feeling safe and warm and comfortable in his lordship's presence. At least she no longer turned to blancmange when he brushed close by her, or not often anyway. But why? When a spider cast its web, maybe it was looking for a place to dangle, not just a passing meal. When a noted rake cast his spells, maybe they were innocent, not necessarily insidious. Melody thought they were both likely instincts: the spider just spun, rogues just charmed, because it was in their nature. Well, she could admire a web for its dewdrop-diamond artistry without becoming any libertine's tasty morsel. But what a tempting trap, if trap it was.

Was it possible for a spider to build such an intricate, sticky web that it got stuck itself? Corey Inscoe came back to the Oaks every evening tired, dirty, and satisfied, to his own surprise. He played chess with Philip, raised Bates's salary, and relaxed with a glass of brandy on the library's leather sofa after everyone else had gone to bed, content to watch the dying fire and idly turn pages of his books. There were no balls, no all-night revelries or card parties, no greedy mistresses—and he did not miss any of it. At least not the greedy part.

Lord Coe still wanted Melody, uncomfortably more than ever. He had returned to the Oaks determined to use the time to his best advantage: to show Miss Ashton he was not a fribble and gain her trust. Hell, friendship between man and woman was just a temporary detour on the road to seduction, wasn't it? The only problem was, he liked her.

The more Corey saw of Miss Ashton, the more he admired her. Not just her beauty, although sometimes the sight of her, even ankle deep in pig wallow, made his breath catch. It wasn't as though she was exactly pretty; that little mantrap Felice was far more comely in the fashionable sense. But Angel had a freshness, a glow, and that dimple he'd move mountains and pig manure just to make appear. She would not go to fat like that rounded Miss Bartleby either; her shape when Corey had held her and the rifle in his arms offered promises—and another sleepless night if he didn't concentrate on Scott's latest epic.

There was more. He loved her affection for her ragged band and her loyalty to her rag-mannered family. She was honest and open. Why, if she disagreed with him, she would shout or throw things; she wouldn't sulk or cry or snipe at a fellow for two days after. She was intelligent and well read, interesting, and a good listener. She was not afraid to get her face in the sun or her hands in the garden. And she laughed. Not the simpering sound well-bred ladies were taught to make, but genuine, unaffected laughter. All in all, the poor confused viscount mused, Miss Ashton was everything a man could want—in a friend.

What a dilemma… and what in heaven's name was going on in the nether regions of the house? The servants had been dismissed an hour ago because his lordship saw no reason to keep them standing around yawning just to light his way upstairs, so no one should have been in the kitchens. Someone was, from the noise, and not making any secret of it either. Corey stepped to the desk and took his pistol from the top drawer. His soft slippers made no noise as he prowled down the hall.

"I am sure there is a good reason for this," he drawled from the kitchen doorway. "But do not stop what you are doing. Let me guess."

Melody nearly jumped out of her shoes at the sound of Corey's voice. Then she turned the color of dough that had been left out too long. Gads, what a hobble this was, finding herself exactly where she should never be, alone with a man—a semidressed man, at that, in his paisley robe—in the middle of the night. Her shaking hands continued their motions of scraping plates of food onto old newspapers, folding the papers, and putting the bundles into paper sacks. She knew her hair was undone, but at least her green cloak covered her and her lawn nightgown from head to toe. That fact gave her enough confidence to say, "Couldn't you just go back to bed and forget about me?"

"That's a contradiction in terms, Angel. I haven't been able to do it in months." He grinned when he saw the color rush back to her face but decided to stay where he was for the nonce, casually leaning against the door frame, out of respect for her temper and her aim. "I would have been within my rights to shoot you, you realize," Corey observed, putting the gun into his pocket. "Although I wonder if a person can be charged with breaking into his or her own house. Somehow I wouldn't have thought robbery would be your next foray into crime. Then again, most burglars head for the silver and jewels, not the pantry."

"Oh, do stop, you wretched man. You know it is no such thing. Mrs. Tolliver left these plates out for me to take."

"In the middle of the night? Now why, I wonder. Could it be that Miss Ashton is too proud to borrow food?" His voice grew softer, more coaxing. "You know, Angel, if things are that bad at Dower House, we can still make some kind of arrangement——"

Melody looked from the plate in her hands, veal marsala, to Lord Coe's paisley silk robe. No, she would salvage whatever dignity remained to her. She raised her chin in that gesture Corey prized, like a grande dame putting down an encroaching caper merchant.

"Yes?" he prodded, just to remind her he had the upper hand. After all, it was his house, albeit rented, his food, and her cork-brained scheme, whatever it was.

"Do you know that your French chef is the most haughty, self-important man I have ever known?"

"And here I thought I was. But no, I don't believe I had that impression of Antoine. Of course, I seldom converse with the fellow."

"Well, he is. You'd think he was the nobleman, not you. He has no concept of money and no respect for others less fortunate."

"Was that meant to be an indictment of the entire peerage, or just Antoine?" There was the dimple. Now that it was safe to get nearer, Corey started carrying the empty dishes to the sink.

"You see? Antoine wouldn't touch the dirty dishes, either. He has an assistant just to hand him things and clean up after him. But that's not to the point. The fact of the matter is, Antoine refuses to serve less than four courses, with removes, at a viscount's table. Anything less would be beneath him, or you. But you are only one person until your house guests arrive, and most of the food goes to waste since the servants have their own dinner before. And Antoine absolutely refuses to re-serve, leftovers. That would be a sacrilege."

Corey was grinning by now. "Yes, I see the problem. But why couldn't one of the footmen bring the food to Dower House so you don't have to sneak around at night?"

"Because Mrs. Tolliver asked very nicely the first night, and your precious Antoine refused."

"He what? "I'll—"

"He refused to let his labors, his artistry, his magnificent creations, his
leftovers
, go to feed the hogs."

"Ah yes, the pigs. I should have known. But what shall I do about it?" Corey asked. He was chuckling as he lifted two of the filled bags and her lantern, now that Melody was done. "If I order him to cook less, you'll have less food for the hogs, and if I order him to give them the remains, he'll either quit or feed me pig swill."

"Not to worry, I am teaching the twins French. Antoine will hand over the food just to get—What are you doing?"

Corey was raising her hood and holding the door for her. "I am seeing you and your booty safely home."

He wouldn't listen to her objections, and he wouldn't go back midway. In fact, Lord Coe walked Melody right to the kitchen door she had left unlocked in the back of Dower House. There he hung the lantern and handed her his two bags of foodstuffs, wondering how the pigs would feel about the glazed ham. With his two sacks and her two packages, Melody could not reach to open the door. "My lord?" she whispered.

"Thief-takers always get a bounty," he answered, and took his reward, while she had her hands full and her mouth open. Pinwheels, cartwheels, Catherine wheel fireworks, Melody's senses were swirling and smoldering from his kiss, when Corey pushed her inside and closed the door behind her.