Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (14 page)

"You—you
could
not mean Lord Jeremy
Bolster?"

Hawkhurst had been staring rather blankly at his horse's ears,
but the incredulity in her tone brought a glint of anger to his eyes,
and he snapped, "Yes. But pray do not let the secret out—it would quite
ruin the poor fellow! Now, as to my sister. I am told you intend to…
er, make a beauty out of her."

He was not pleased, that was very obvious. Making a recovery
from her astonishment that he could number so fine a young man as
Bolster among his friends, Euphemia began, "I merely hoped to—"

"Gild the lily?" he sneered rudely. "Why? Not all men like
painted, perfumed, and posturing females."

Flabbergasted, she fought to remain outwardly calm, even while
wondering how that arrogant face would look with claw marks down it.
"Nor had I intended to make her into a replica of myself, sir," she
riposted, with saintly humility.

Briefly, he looked taken aback, but refusing to acknowledge
that his deliberate insult had been flung back in his teeth, he
compounded the felony. "I am glad to hear it. Stephanie is happy and
has no need to cultivate a lot of foolish affectations to no purpose."

For an instant Euphemia could scarce believe she had heard him
aright. Then, she was fairly dizzied with rage.
Never
had she met such a crude barbarian! "Foolish affectations" indeed! She
clung to the memory that he had saved their lives and was thus enabled
not to betray the anger that she sensed would gratify him. Entering the
lists with grace, but with her lance poised, she murmured, "Ah, but
is
she happy?"

"The devil! Why would she not be?" He flung out one arm in an
irked gesture that startled Sarabande into a sideways leap, a dance,
two bucks, and a whirligig. Euphemia clapped her hands and laughed
aloud. Hawkhurst rode it out in magnificent style, but was flushed and
tight of lip when at last he reined the black to her side. Perhaps
because he knew her mirth well-warranted, he snarled, "I collect
country life would seem dull to someone who has jauntered about the
world as you have done, ma'am. But I assure you my sister desires no
such flibbertigibbet existence. She is a shy, quiet bookworm. You were
charitable enough to describe her 'beautiful.' That, she ain't! She has
far more important attributes—a heart of gold, and the disposition of
an angel. If some bright young Buck could only see beyond the end of
his nose, he'd grab her up fast!" Really furious now, Euphemia
attempted to respond, but up went his hand again, and, looking down at
her as from Mount Olympus, he decreed, "She would no more fit into that
frippery round of empty-headed entertainments and empty-headed people
in London Town, than—"

"Stuff, sir!" she flashed, goaded beyond endurance. "Oh, you
may scowl and droop your haughty eyes at me if you must! I shall have
my say! Your sister, Mr. Hawkhurst, is a young and lovely girl. She
should be happily shopping with friends for fashionable gowns and
bonnets and ribands and reticules, and all the little pieces of
prettiness you, I have no doubt, designate 'nonsense,' but that are
dear to the heart of any lady! And had she the disposition of a saint
and the face of a goddess, much good would it do her so long as she is
cooped up here all year round! How may she meet her 'bright young
Buck,' sir? I've seen few callers since we came. And
none
any gentleman would wish to introduce to a loved sister! Stephanie
should
be going to balls and routs and parties and 'frippery entertainments,'
meeting other young people, and eligible young men!"

"Well… she… shall…
not
!" he grated
between his teeth.

"Indeed? Then what
is
your intention for
her, dare I ask? To keep her hidden away so as to share a lonely old
age with you?"

He froze, whitened, and reached out to seize her bridle, once
more pulling the mare to a halt. His eyes glittering, he rasped, "You
certainly speak your mind, Miss Buchanan!"

The black minced and pranced, and suddenly their mounts were
close together. Hawkhurst's scraped forehead was almost healed now, the
bruises faded, but his sudden pallor accentuated them, reminding her of
the accident. Perhaps it was the aftermath of her anger that was
causing her to tremble in so odd a way, but she was shocked as much by
the depth of that anger as by her unforgivable outburst. "Yes," she
said meekly, "I am famous for my hasty tongue. I know that was
unpardonable, but—forgive me, I beg you." His lips remained set in that
tight, harsh line. She placed one hand on his arm and smiled up into
those glinting eyes, and the rage faded from them. For one brief second
she thought to see a very different expression, but then the lids
drooped, and, drawing away, he started onward, saying coldly, "Very
well, Madam All-Wise, what would you have me do?"

"Allow me to… to show her how to dress her hair more
becomingly," she said, still strangely shaken. "And perhaps, if there
is time, she could come into Bath with me, and we could shop a little
and find her—"

"Oh, spare me!" Hawkhurst was riding slightly ahead now, since
the path had narrowed, and over his shoulder said a bored, "Never
bother with an itemized list, ma'am! I'm all too well acquainted with
the lures you ladies throw out to catch yourselves a husband."

Euphemia usually found it downright child's play to wrap
gentlemen around her little finger and certainly had never in all her
days been blatantly insulted. He was unique! But he'd not get the best
of her this easily. "I am very sure you are," she said sweetly. "In
fact, dear sir, I pray you will enlighten me, for there is so much I've
yet to learn."

The path widening again, he waited for her to come up with
him, his eyes searching her face narrowly. "From all I hear, you have
rejected more offers than most of our acknowledged Toasts."

Euphemia was convinced now that he sought to come to cuffs
with her and that her well-meant interference with his sister had
thoroughly enraged him. Her demure silence did not improve his mood
appreciably, for he added a sneering, "What's the difficulty, ma'am?
Has no mere man measured up to your expectations?"

It would not, she thought, be quite polite to take off one's
boot and cast it into a gentleman's teeth. She was very tempted to tell
him that she hoped to snare one who had come "hosed and shod" into the
world, but to do so would be to betray Stephanie's confidence, so
instead she sighed, "Alas, that is true. The man of my heart did not
offer for me."

Hawkhurst was taken completely off his stride. Horrified, he
sought frantically for something to say that would mitigate his savage
attack. But she looked so very saintly that suspicion seized him, and,
albeit uncertainly, he said, "And I suppose this paragon is some
fashionable fribble, appropriately tall, dark, and handsome?"

"Yes, he is." She heard a disgusted snort and, beginning to
enjoy herself, appended outrageously, "And so dashing in his uniform!"

"Oh? A Gentleman's Son, no doubt? How those military rattles
dazzle the ladies in their scarlet!"

"True. But my admired gentleman did not wear a scarlet coat."

"Oh? A rifleman?"

"A naval officer. And, much decorated." (He would be
vastly
decorated! He would have every decoration known to man!) "He served
with Lord Nelson."

There was silence. Euphemia stole a glance from under her
lashes and could have screamed with mirth at his awed expression.

"Did he, by George! And—his name? Or, perhaps I presume?"

"Not at all. His name is Algernon Montmorency… Vane—" She met
his eyes as she sought about mentally and encountered a totally
unexpected twinkle.

"… Glorious!" he suggested.

She had to choke back an instinctive laugh and finished,
"Vane-Armstrong."

"Poor fellow!" He clicked his tongue. "What a mouthful! And,
his title?"

He meant to check his
Peerage
—the
wretch! "Oh, none! But, from a very fine old family, as you doubtless
know. So, will you not help me, Mr. Hawkhurst?"

Watching her, he echoed rather vaguely, "
Help
you?"

"You said you were well acquainted with… lures I might throw
out."

His eyes sharpened and held very steadily on hers for a space.
She could not know how her blue eyes sparkled, nor how rosy were her
cheeks. With a small start, he said, "Oh Lord, there are millions of
'em, I don't doubt. I've had millions flung at me, it seems. You'd not
believe, Miss Buchanan, the lengths to which some of these
fortune-hunting wenches will go. I've had 'em 'lose their way' and be
'compelled' to walk to Dominer for aid. Or 'need repairs' to their
carriages, and we were 'the closest house.' And all this in the face of
my… ah, lurid reputation, you'll mind. Ain't nothing can dim the lure
of gold, is there, ma'am? Do you know, I had one saucy puss arrive
positively dripping with diamonds—-all rented, I suspect. And purely to
impress me with the fact that she was as rich, if not more so, than me!
Jove! I'd not be surprised to have such a hussy drive her carriage
clean off the road—did she believe 'twould gain her entrance to
Dominer."

The words were as deliberate as they were vulgar, and his hard
eyes challenged her. Euphemia found it difficult to draw breath, but
managed, "Is… that so? Well, you have given me much to think on, Mr.
Hawkhurst I do thank you!"

The colour in his cheeks deepened. Very abruptly, he swung
Sarabande away. "Our tongues travel faster than our mounts!" he called.
"Come, ma'am." and he galloped on and around a stand of young trees.

"Bluebeard!" Euphemia hissed after his lithely swaying back.
"Overbearing! Odious! Conceit-ridden, puffed up
gudgeon"

And, wheeling Fiddle, she rode deliberately in the opposite
direction and into the Home Wood.

For a time, Euphemia was so enraged that she saw only
Hawkhurst's smirking countenance and hard, cold eyes. So he fancied her
dropping the handkerchief, did he? By heaven, but he must credit her
with superhuman powers to have arranged that horrible landslide! He
surely could not believe that she would have risked Kent's life in so
reckless a fashion, even
had
the slide been
contrived, which was of itself nonsensical. Perhaps he thought it
merely happenstance, that she and Simon had ridden onto his lands
intending to "arrange a breakdown," only to be caught in a real
disaster. How
dare
he! And as if any lady of
quality would throw herself at so wretched an individual. It was
probably all a hum! "Ain't nothing can dim the lure of gold, is there,
ma'am?" Oh, but he was hateful! If what he said was truth indeed, the
type of women he had attracted must be the very dregs. Her teeth
gritted. And he apparently believed her to be one of those dregs!

She rode on, fuming, until there came the insidious
recollection of him lying sprawled on the floor of the dining room,
winded and helpless, yet with his eyes laughing into hers as he gasped
out his quotation. Simon, she knew, would have said he was a good
sportsman at that moment. Increasingly, Mr. Garret Hawkhurst seemed to
be two men, totally unlike: the one gallant, haunted by tragedy, yet
still possessing a warm, rich sense of humour; the other hard, cruel,
and capable of—She bit her lip. No! Even at his worst, she could no
longer judge Hawkhurst capable of murdering a woman or a child. Seeking
about for a key to the puzzle, she reflected that emergencies tend to
bring out the best in certain individuals. Some of the wildest, most
rabble-rousing womanizers under her father's command had been the most
high-couraged fighters when battle was joined. Hawkhurst must be such a
man. The emergency was over, and so he had reverted to type. She nodded
her satisfaction with the theory. Still, she was deeply indebted and
would repay him. By helping his sweet sister. However, he must be set
down for his abominable rudeness in trying to chase her away before she
could do so. Now, how might that best be accomplished? The calculating
expression in her eyes remained for a little while, but gradually a
smile replaced it.

She glanced up. Her smile died, and she gave a shocked gasp.
She must have been lost in thought for much longer than she had
realized, as she had evidently come a good distance. The gently rolling
hills and dimpling valleys had been superseded by wooded slopes and
sudden sharp little ravines, unsuitable country for riding—especially
for a lady, unaccompanied. She wheeled Fiddle about. In that same
instant a large hare flashed under the mare's nose. The quiet was
shattered by a deafening explosion. Fiddle screamed with fright and
reared madly. Euphemia had to exert every ounce of her horsemanship to
keep from being thrown. When at last she was able to lean forward and
stroke the sweating mare, a quiet voice murmured, "Splendidly done,
ma'am. My compliments!"

A gentleman wearing a leather hunting jacket, top boots and
buckskins stood watching her with admiration. He carried a gun finely
inlaid with mother-of-pearl over one arm and a game-bag lay on the
ground beside him. "I almost shot you, I'm afraid," he apologized. "I
am most dreadfully sorry. I can see that would have been a terrible
loss for this tired old world."

She liked him at once. He looked to be a year or two older
than Simon, about thirty, she would guess. His hair, worn somewhat
longer than the current fashion, was a crisp brown. The face was square
and strong, but with a well-shaped mouth and laugh lines at the sides
of the brown eyes. And, noting that one of those eyes lacked the
twinkle that shone so warmly in the other and that the skin below it
was puckered as though it had been burned, she said, with a smile, "You
must be Lord Gains. Good gracious, but I have come a long way! Shall
you have me seized by your keepers for trespassing?"