Romancing the Rogue (32 page)

A smile tugged at her lips. “I would like that. Very much.”

“In that case. I’m Oliver.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Oliver. I’m Lucy.”

“Lucy. What a charming, lovely name.”

“Why, thank you. I—” Why was Oliver frowning? “Is something amiss?”

He pointed behind her. “Some deranged person is flapping his arms and making his way straight for us.”

“Oh, dear, I do hope it’s not an escapee of
Bedlam.
”

“Lucy!”

A man ran toward them, waving his arms back and forth.
What in the
world? Who would…?
She frowned. It was Conrad Croome. What was he doing there?

Panting by the time he neared them, though he hadn’t come terribly far from the gate, Conrad slowed to a walk a few yards away.

Oliver leaned close and whispered, “Do you know him?”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “Unfortunately.”

“Would you like him to be escorted out of the Sanctuary? I’d be more than glad to see to it. Personally.”

Lucy looked at Oliver. “Thank you, that’s very sweet of you.” She turned back to the now very near Conrad. “But no. I cannot. I’ll explain to you the reason later.”

“As you wish.” He gritted his teeth, causing his jaw muscle to flex, but it came and went so quickly, Lucy wondered if she’d imagined it.

Conrad finally reached them as he fished in his pocket and produced a lily-white handkerchief. Everything about the man was always in order. Did he never have a strand of hair askew? A speck of dirt beneath his nails? Of course not. He never bothered to do anything that would cause him a moment’s trouble or effort.

Oliver glanced away. Was he comparing his own appearance to Conrad’s? If he only knew how that didn’t matter to her. That she found Conrad detestable and always had.

But Oliver… Everything about him seemed wonderful to her.

Right.

Perfect.

Conrad folded his handkerchief, put it carefully in his pocket, smoothed his hair, and adjusted his jacket. “Lucy, how lovely to see you here again.”

She frowned. Why did he make it sound as if his being at the Sanctuary was a common occurrence? She’d never seen him there. Not once. She rarely saw the man out of doors unless it was to leave his house to climb into his carriage. And if one could believe the gossip spread from his servants to her father’s, Conrad even insisted that the driver pull the carriage up as close to the front door as possible so he didn’t soil the bottoms of his expensive boots.

The man was absurd.

“Hello, Conrad.” She said no more. Perhaps if she remained silent, he would leave.

Oliver didn’t say anything either, but from the corner of Lucy’s eye, she noticed his hands were flexing in and out. Did Conrad’s presence put him on alert? Cause him to want to protect her for some reason?

If that were true, she had yet another reason to swoon around him. The now-familiar warmth whenever he was near heated her core, teasing her body and mind with thoughts she probably ought not to be having.

At least not with the other man standing right there.

Conrad glanced from one to the other. A scowl marred his pasty face. What did he have to frown about? He always seemed to want to be with Lucy, and he’d never even met Oliver. Had he eaten something spoiled recently? Blood pudding gone bad?

With a sigh, Oliver stepped forward. Did he feel sorry for Conrad? Or was he just weary of waiting for the other man to speak? To do what was expected? Lucy’s face heated. Poor Oliver. He must have been so humiliated.
Please, Conrad, be a gentleman from here on.

“Good day. I’m Mr. Barrow.”

Conrad wrinkled his nose, as if the very fact that Oliver dare address him brought the stench of dead mackerel. From between clenched teeth, he muttered, “Good day.”

Lucy waited for Conrad to say his name as well. She waited an uncomfortable half a minute. Why must the man be so contrary?
Oh, very well!
“Mr. Barrow, this is Mr. Conrad Croome, the Earl of Lofton.”

Oliver held out his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Again, Lucy waited for Conrad to do the expected thing. The decent thing. The human thing. Finally, he grudgingly touched his palm to Oliver’s, then just as quickly snapped it back to his side. Without apology or the grace to look ashamed, he reached again into his pocket.

Lucy’s mouth dropped open in an unladylike pose. He
didn’t!
The man retrieved his handkerchief and wiped his hand. Of all the unmitigated nerve. He was even more repugnant than she’d thought. And that was saying something, for she could hardly stomach the man, even from a distance.

Oliver rubbed his hand along the thigh of his pants. Was he mocking Conrad’s insult? Bravo! Conrad needed taken down a peg. Or ten. The man was obnoxious. Perhaps Oliver was the man for the task.

Lucy touched Oliver’s sleeve. A mutter from Conrad’s direction brought an inner smile she dared not show on her lips. “Mr. Barrow, perhaps you would be as good as to show Conrad and me around the Bird Sanctuary. And please, don’t leave
anything
out. We’d like to observe it
all
.”

With raised eyebrows, Oliver looked at her. She let the ghost of a smile touch her lips, just enough to show him what she was about.

Nodding, he grinned. “Why certainly. I’d be glad to.”

Conrad coughed. “I… wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble, Mr. Barrow.”

“Please, think nothing of it,
Lofton
. It would give pleasure to do so.
Great
pleasure.”

Lucy bit her lip. She would not laugh. But oh, how she desired to! Oliver wasn’t giving an inch to Conrad. Wouldn’t even call him by his title.

As the three started back across the grass, the path Conrad had just taken, Lucy smirked. It seemed Oliver was going to cover every inch of the Sanctuary. Conrad was in for a surprise. Sweaty attire. Muddy boots, sunburn, and more than a little attention from ravenous, biting insects.

Lucy couldn’t say she hated the idea. Although she should. It wasn’t nice.
But neither is Conrad.
She let out a sigh.
No, I must at least be outwardly polite, for my father’s sake, even though I don’t like Conrad. Not a lick.

She marched behind Oliver, easily keeping up with his pace. Conrad, however, panted so loud from behind her, he sounded like a hound after a hunt. Maybe if he got a taste of what the Bird Sanctuary had to offer, he’d not return.

I can hope!

Several minutes of brisk walking later, Oliver stopped and turned toward them. Conrad barely suppressed a “thank goodness” and reached for his ever-present handkerchief, which wasn’t at all white any longer.

Such a pity
.

They stood in front of a smaller pond than the one where the goose had taken Lucy’s hat. Ducks waddled about them. Their brown coloring with white stripes on the neck contrasted sharply with their blue bills.

That resembles an ensemble Anna might choose to wear.

One duck made a straight course for Conrad. He jumped away, trying to escape contact with the bird. “Wh-what is that horrid creature doing?”

Lucy frowned. “Conrad, don’t be rude.” If she was trying to be outwardly polite, then so should he.

“Miss Ashbrook is right, Lofton, the duck is only curious about you.”

“Well I’m not curious about him!”

The duck waddled closer.

Proop-proop!

Lucy giggled. “What an odd sound they make.”

Oliver nodded. “Yes, very odd. These are northern pintail ducks. The males have that odd whistle you just heard, while the females only quack.”

Taking a step closer to the duck, Lucy raised her eyebrows. “This duck is a male?”

“Yes.”

“And he seems to have taken an
interest
in Conrad.”

Face turning an appalling shade of red, Conrad screeched, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

She waved her hand at him. “Oh… nothing.” When she dared glance at Oliver, she caught him biting his lip, trying not to smile. One side of her mouth quivered in response. Given a good reason, or any reason at all, a laugh might be forthcoming, and very soon.

“Look.” She pointed at a large group of ducks. “They’re going in for a swim.”

A dozen or so ducks, both male and female
quacked
and
proop-prooped
their way into the water. Lucy followed Oliver to the edge of the pond to see them better. She turned. “Conrad, come and see this, they’re so amusing!”

“I have no doubt you will find them amusing, Lucy, as you seem to be smiling, giggling, or laughing at every little thing today. Although why, I haven’t a clue.”

Oliver leaned toward Lucy and whispered, “I know of a way to entice him forward. Are you game?”

“Of course.”

Reaching his arm out and around Lucy’s shoulders, Oliver pulled her tightly to his side. He whispered again. “Feel free to play along.”

She nodded.
Let’s give this a try, shall we?
“Oh… my… Mr. Barrow…”

He sputtered a laugh but covered his mouth with his free hand. “Yes, my dear?”

“You are so very strong.”

Muttering came from behind. A stomp of a boot. Had Conrad just cursed?

“Miss Ashbrook, I must tell you what’s in my heart.” Oliver tilted his head near hers.

She turned her face toward him and fluttered her eyelashes. “Please. Do tell.”

“Well, I know we’ve only just met, but…”

“Yes?”

“I… feel as if I’ve known you my entire life.”

“Go on, darling.”

“It may seem sudden, but will you do me the honor of…”

“Now just a minute!” Conrad stormed up to them, standing beside Lucy. “What is all this?”

Lucy stepped away from Oliver and burst out laughing.

Oliver did the same. “Just having sport with you, old man.”

“Well, I don’t find it funny. Not in the least. How inappropriate of you, Lucy. You should be ashamed of yourself. Acting in such a manner. Flaunting your… your physical self to a man. You should leave such barbaric displays to the awful creatures that live
here
.”

Lucy smiled and indicated the ducks behind Conrad. “You mean… such as that?”

Conrad spun around toward the water. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung open. “Well… I… well!”

Oliver laughed. “That’s just how they feed.”

Ducks swam about in the water, splashing and paddling.

But two… two in the middle of the pond weren’t swimming. They were fishing for something beneath the water.

Tail feathers and bottoms stuck high in the air.

A red splash of color appeared on Conrad’s face. “That’s disgusting. I cannot bear to stand here and watch them do
that
.”

Oliver sighed. “Very well. We’ll head on to another type of bird. This one doesn’t feed in water. So at least you won’t have to see
that
anymore.”

“Saints be praised!” Conrad shivered, as if trying to dislodge the hideous scene he’d witnessed.

They tromped through more tall grass, climbed a hill or two, carefully picked their way through a marshy glen, and stopped by a large grove of trees.

Pointing to the tree above them, Oliver’s eyes took on the twinkle Lucy had come to expect when he spoke of any of the birds. The man did love his fowl.

“Right above us, we have a common cuckoo.”

Conrad wiped his forehead with his now grungy, trusty friend and stuffed it in his pocket. “Pardon? A what?”

“Common cuckoo.”

“That’s an absurd name.”

Lucy gritted her teeth.
So is Conrad Croome
.

Oliver, with one eyebrow raised, crossed his arms. “Nevertheless, that is his name. He’s breathtaking, isn’t he?”

Conrad rolled his eyes. “If you insist.”

“Oh, I do. I certainly do.”

Oh my… Conrad’s name and the bird’s have the same initials!
A giggle slipped out. Lucy smacked her hand over her mouth. “Oh, excuse me. I… uh, coughed. Must have swallowed a bug.”

Conrad blanched. “That’s repulsive.”

“Nevertheless…
” A second giggle threatened.
Control yourself, Lucy!
She looked up at the bird as she tried to compose herself. He really was beautiful, with his grey feathers and black and white belly. “Oliver, what does this bird like to eat?”

“Hairy caterpillars.”

Conrad’s lips formed a perfect O shape.

“It would seem the, uh, hair would be uncomfortable when the bird swallowed it.” Lucy ran her hand down her throat.

“Lucy!” Conrad’s scowl was no less scornful than a rigid schoolmaster.

She shrugged. “Makes perfect sense to me. Doesn’t it to you, Mr. Barrow?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Conrad waved away a fly intent on his nose. “And why do these insects keep
pestering
me?”

Oliver barked out a laugh. “They are
pests,
are they not?”

Conrad glared. “Oh, that’s rich. Unlike
you
.”

“Conrad!” Lucy stomped her boot, splattering mud across his pant leg. And she would not apologize for it, either.

Oliver looked from one to the other. “Listen, why don’t we get back to observing the birds, shall we?”

“Of course.” Lucy glared at Conrad, who glared back.

“Splendid.” A reddish hue crept up Oliver’s neck.

Drat Conrad for making that rude remark about Oliver not having money. Now he’s embarrassed.

“This cuckoo is often mistaken for a falcon in flight. And has a habit of laying its eggs in other bird’s nests so it doesn’t have to raise them itself. Denying responsibility of parenthood, if you will.”

“There’s a word for that in human terms.” Conrad glanced at Lucy. “But I won’t repeat it in mixed company.”

Lucy smiled sweetly. “And just whom are you mixing? Hmm? Men and women, or humans and birds?”

Or Conrad Croomes and common cuckoos?

He huffed out a breath. “Let’s just say that if I ever came face to face with one of those repulsive cuckoos, I’d give it a tongue lashing for being so outlandishly unseemly in its behavior.”

“Would you now? They are
birds
, after all.” Oliver crossed his arms.

Was it Lucy’s imagination, or had he grown taller? And had his shoulders broadened and his arm muscles enlarged? Lucy lightly clapped her hands together, so small a movement that neither man saw.
Good for you, Oliver, for protecting the reputation of your birds.

Conrad puffed out his chest. “Yes. I would. Why I would say—”

The insulted cuckoo dove from the tree and plunged toward them, squawking its annoyance.

Or rather, directly toward Conrad.

“Ahh!” He batted the bird away, but not before the cuckoo had knocked Conrad’s hat off and absconded with a thatch of the man’s hair.

Lucy widened her eyes. “Conrad! Are you hurt?”

His hand to his head, and then hand held in front of his face, he stammered. “M-my hair. Th-that bird has stolen my h-hair!” A few straggly wisps hung from his fingers.

Oliver stepped forward. “Say, let me have a look. Make sure the bird didn’t leave a wound.”

“No!” Conrad batted at Oliver’s hand, much the same as he’d done to the bird.

“Now, now. I’m just trying to help you. Let me lo—”

“Away from me! Get away! I’ll thank you to keep
your
hands and those of your insane
bird
apart from my person.” He bent down and snatched his hat from the grass and then plopped it on his head.
“Good day to you
both.
” He stomped away in a fury of ill temper and dusty clothes.

Lucy shook her head. “He does realize, I hope, that cuckoos don’t possess actual
hands?”