Myriah Fire (10 page)

“Your odious brother does not like me—not that I care—but he need not be so rude. After all …”

“After all what? And don’t be calling m’brother odious!” Billy snapped, quick to range himself on his brother’s side.

“Well, of course,
you
would not think so. But then he was not uncivil to
you
!” Myriah retorted, flushing.

“Was Kit uncivil to you?”

“Somewhat. But in all fairness, I suppose I was presumptuous.”

“Fiend
seize
it, girl!
What
are
you talking about?” asked Billy, frowning.

“
Your hat!
”
Myriah sighed. “
It seems they found the blasted thing near your blood … on Wimborne lands. Well … I simply threw
them off
the track by saying that
I
had dropped your hat when I was on my way to town to have a new lining and embroidery job done on it. They wanted to see you,
and your brother pretended to be willing enough, which seems to have done the trick—besides his air of superiority. Quite impressive really … but then he was most disturbed that I
had answered the door.”

“Good Lord! Yes, I can imagine!” replied Billy, frowning darkly.

“Billy!” Myriah exclaimed. “
Et tu Bruté
?”

“You don’t understand, Myriah! Bless you … for you did just as you ought. Always knew you were a right ’un, but Kit … he don’t like the notion of you smelling out
our business!”

Myriah took umbrage. “Billy Wimborne! I have not tried to
smell
out your business. I have already told your odi … your brother … that I am not interested in your business. Though, to be sure, I have developed a certain absorption in your welfare.”

“I know that, m’girl! Lord, I trusted you with m’life, didn’t I? ’Tis Kit … he doesn’t trust so easily. I suppose it was the war … you know he only sold out a year ago, and well, never mind that now. Don’t fret it—he’ll come round.”

“Well, I don’t care if he does or not … for I shall soon be going,” Myriah announced haughtily.

Billy eyed her for a moment and said slowly, “You know, Myriah … I have been thinking that you shouldn’t leave for quite a spell … might end up with the knot neatly tied if you do … for your father is bound to be in a rage.”

Myriah bit her lip and imagined what might lie in store for her if her father were to find her while he was still bent on marrying her off.

“I know, Billy, but your brother really dislikes having me here. So I thought I would be off on the morrow!”

“My brother will allow you to stay as long as
I
wish you
to stay. And, Myriah,
I’m not
about to allow you to be eaten alive after you have been friend enough to
save me
!”

“Billy, he will be so angry—I know.”

“Kit?
Funny you should think that. It ain’t like him to lose his temper. Friendly sort and cool and collected—always has been. No … he’ll come round.”

“Very well. I thank you, sir,” Myriah said still doubtful.

“Good Lord! What have I done—you will stay and continue, I know, to plague me!” Billy bantered.

She tweaked his nose and told him to go to sleep. He eyed her defiantly. “The devil I will! Where is
my
lunch?”

“Oh,
I quite forgot about food. I shall go have Cook send it up at once,” Myriah said, moving away.

A few moments later Myriah stood in the kitchen with Cook and watched a tray of food carried out by one of Cook’s boys. She turned once again to the older woman, placing a coin in her hand and smiling warmly. “I do feel so distressed about asking this, for I can appreciate how difficult ’twill be when there are only your two boys, but I would so like a hot bath.”

“Never you fret it, miss! I’ll have those rascally brats of mine carry up the hot water right away.” Cook beamed at Myriah’s generosity. “And, Miss, will you be wanting a luncheon tray?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I’m not really hungry today.”

Myriah went into the library and began fingering some of the leather-bound volumes. Her eyes strayed to the leaded, diamond-paned windows and saw a rider making his easy way up the front path.

Honey-colored hair, uncovered and lit by the full day’s sun, billowed about a handsomely rugged countenance. Myriah’s eyes lingered and discovered once again the broad shoulders encased in a well-cut, dark brown riding jacket. She felt a tingling sensation, and on sudden impulse she dashed out of the library and out the front doors, blue velvet swishing around her body.

She would go see Tabby, she told herself. Of course … why shouldn’t she go and see her groom?

* * *

Lord Wimborne had made a visit to nearby Rye, and it had proved fruitful. A meeting for the following night had been agreed upon. He rode his dark roan into the stable and found Tabby brushing down Myriah’s black stallion. Wimborne dismounted, undid the girth to his saddle, and nodded to Fletcher, who came to retrieve the tack and take the horse to pasture.

He looked appraisingly at the black horse Tabby was grooming. He was an excellent judge of horseflesh, and the animal that stood so regally before him was certainly prime blood and must have come at quite a price. It seemed that Miss White was well able to afford what was most certainly a very expensive piece of livestock.

He then turned his attention to Miss White’s groom and smiled amicably. “Finest piece of blood I’ve clapped my eyes on in an age.”

Tabby beamed. “That he be.”

“Your mistress was certainly fortunate, for I have been looking for just such an animal these three months. But, of course, I don’t get too many opportunities to go to Tattersall’s in London,” his lordship said calculatingly.

Tabby was no fool, but he had no reason to be suspicious. He did not realize he was being pumped, and he answered candidly. “They get the best, they do, Tattersall’s.”

Kit put his finger to his lips. “Then, she did acquire him there—your mistress? Miss … er …”

“White!” Myriah said from the doorway, thanking providence she had arrived in time.

Kit turned, and his habitually merry gray eyes glinted. He had wanted to see if Myriah’s groom was in on her game.

Tabby glanced hastily from Lord Wimborne to his
lady and caught the look in her eyes. He sent his own downwards.

When Tabby looked up again it was to meet the questioning eyes of Fletcher, who had just returned. He pulled a rueful face and busied himself with cleaning the leathers.

“Ah, Miss White,” said Kit. “We were just speaking about your magnificent black here … and where you might have purchased him.”

“Oh? It was purchased for me … I believe at Tattersall’s. Silkie was a gift from my mother … five years ago.”

His lordship saw a sadness hover around her eyes; he wondered about it and on impulse offered an invitation. “Would you enjoy a tour about Wimborne Park with me?”

Myriah brightened at once. “Oh, that would be lovely. Thank you.”

He offered his arm and stopped as
if
suddenly remembering. “Oh, do excuse me. I am taking you away … for apparently you came to the stables with … something in mind?” He watched her face with only a mild show of interest.

She blushed, and he could not help but note it.
I was right
, he thought.
The chit is
hiding something
.

“I … I had wanted to speak to my groom about a matter that can certainly wait. It is so warm and lovely that … I should hate the chance of missing a guided tour.” She cast her eyes up to his and allowed him a full look.

Fiend take her,
thought Kit
, she is too beautiful … and my
blood will need cooling if I drink in those eyes
. He led her for a time down the main drive to the pike, turning off onto a narrow trail and pointing towards a body of sea green water. “That’s Rother River, and it borders Romney Marsh.”

“Oh, it is quite lovely here, as lovely as my own home,” Myriah said, off guard. “But wait … Romney Marsh … is that not the area notorious for harboring smugglers?”

“Ah, yes, it has quite a reputation.”

“Reputation? It certainly does.” Myriah snorted. “And here it is adjacent to Wimborne.”

“Would you trust my answer?”

“It depends—would you trust me with it?”

He laughed. “I see trust is an issue with us, but, Myriah, I have never claimed to be someone I’m not.” It was a shot in the dark, but he saw from her expression that he had hit his target.

“OH!”
Myriah exclaimed.
“I must say, I do question Billy’s judgment. However did he come
to think that you are a friendly sort? For you must know that I find you nothing more than a … a … boor!” Myriah turned, very much on the point of abandoning her guided tour.

* * *

He laughed suddenly, and there was a beguiling quality in his voice as his hand reached out and caught Myriah’s bare arm. She turned her countenance upon him as a thrill taunted her flesh. The sudden memory of his lips flashed over her—and suddenly it was no longer a memory.

He had her in his warm embrace, his head bent and his mouth on hers, parting her lips for his velvet, waltzing tongue. She lost herself in the moment, in the dance that was tingling her body and calling for more of the same.

His kiss evolved into another, and she felt as though she were about to collapse when he pulled back, set her on his feet, and inclined his head. “Forgive me.”

She wanted to stamp her foot at him but tried to collect herself as he actually took her hand and linked it through his arm, adding, “I took advantage, but damnation, woman, I can’t say I am sorry for it.” He eyed her curiously. “Now tell me, Miss White … who the hell are you?”

Myriah was bubbling over with confusion. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to slap him. She wanted him to—what? Declare his devotion as her other suitors had? However, he appeared to be in control of himself and was obviously playing some deep game.

She pulled out of his gentle hold and, without a word, left him standing there, looking after her as she made her hasty departure.

Her indignation made her unreasonable, and her fury carried her all the way to the house and to her waiting bath.

* * *

Lord Wimborne’s deep gray eyes watched Myriah’s body as she ran off. He felt a wave of heat rage through him. His hard-on was damned uncomfortable in his breeches, and he knew he had to stop giving in to this mindless desire he had for her.

What was wrong with him, anyway? Why did it matter what her real name was? She had been instrumental in saving his brother’s life, and Billy was his treasure. There too lay another source of his discomfort. He had no desire for his brother to develop an attachment to Myriah. Billy had said he wasn’t interested, yet Lord Wimborne found this hard to believe. Indeed, he could not imagine how any
man would not fall prey to Myriah’s charms … and certainly Billy was no sophisticate. In fact, Billy’s preoccupation with the flaming chit was beginning to disturb Kit greatly. Again he thought, she would have to go
—
and soon!

* * *

In Billy’s bedchamber a blazing fire crackled and gave a warm backdrop to a cozy scene.

Myriah’s back was to Billy while her head was bent forward, her long red tresses over her face as she toweled them dry. That she was clothed in nothing more than Master Billy’s long, dark brocade dressing gown and that she was in a state of dishabille seemed insignificant to both parties as they bantered amicably with one another.

Forgotten were conventionalities and pompous aunts—especially her aunt Emily, who would have raised her eyes to heaven and declared Myriah quite lost to a sense of the proprieties. Here was a
friend—the brother she had never had
—
and Myriah so needed him now.