Rules of Engagement (9 page)

Miss Lockhart said, "Oh, no."

Lord Kerrich ignored her, coming to kneel at Beth's side. In a pleasant, coaxing voice, he asked, "Did you like the horse races?"

"I loved them." Beth didn't have to pretend. Her enthusiasm swept her along. "The smell of the dirt and the straw and the way people jumped up and down and all the shouting and sometimes if I asked nice the owner would let me pet the horse—"

"You cannot take that child to a horse race," Miss Lockhart said.

Leaning back on his heels, he cupped his chin and examined Beth—but not unkindly. As if he was interested. Then he sighed. "No. I suppose not."

"But—" Beth said.

"No." Miss Lockhart stood firm.

Beth slumped in her seat. It wasn't fair. Papa had taken her. Why couldn't she go now? With Lord Kerrich? It would make him like her, and so she would tell Miss Lockhart later.

"Where did you go to the horse races?" Lord Kerrich asked.

"The Hippodrome."

"It's not a good track," he said. "The clay is so heavy the best jockeys refuse to ride on it."

She kicked the leg of the desk.

"And it's on the outskirts of a slum. Surely you saw the pickpockets and thieves that frequent the place."

"Yes." She shot him a scornful glance. "But Papa and I couldn't go to Ascot, could we?"

"I suppose not."

A thought came to her, and she sat straight up. "Do you own a horse, my lord?"

Lord Kerrich shook his head. "No. No racehorses."

Miss Lockhart pushed her glasses up on her nose. "Praise be for that."

"But you own a horse? A real horse? Is it tall?" Beth squirmed with glee. "Is it chestnut? I think they're the prettiest, but Papa liked the dappled grays."

"I have a chestnut." Looking more like a fairy godfather every moment, Lord Kerrich grinned at Beth.
"And
a dappled gray. In fact, I own a team of both."

In her rush of joy, Beth forgot she wanted to please Miss Lockhart and build a kinship with Lord Kerrich so he would keep her. She thought only of the horses, the beautiful horses. But it was almost too good to be true, and she couldn't help asking suspiciously, "You wouldn't be fibbing to me, would you?"

Throwing back his head, he laughed out loud, a great, ringing laugh that made Beth want to laugh along.

But not Miss Lockhart. She came and stood over the top of them, and glared down her nose at him as he knelt at her feet. "My lord, this is not what I intended."

"What did you intend, Miss Lockhart?" He drawled so slowly he sounded like Chilton when he was being a wiseacre. "That I should take needlework lessons with Beth?"

"There are men who would be much improved by the lessons of patience and gentility learned along with needlework."

"
I
am not one of them." Slowly, he rose, stretching himself upward until Miss Lockhart's nose reached just about to his collarbone, and he looked down toward her.

They both wore such insufferably superior expressions that Beth was hard-pressed not to giggle.

"I'm taking the child for a ride in the park." He held out his hand to Beth, and she took it without hesitation. "If you plan to go along, Miss Lockhart, you'd best change into suitable riding gear."

In all fairness, Pamela had to admit part of her dissatisfaction came from the variety of aches she had acquired last night during the bathing battle with Beth. Right now, as her mare followed along the path radiant with tawny blossoms and miniature pinks, she felt every bruise clear to the bone.

As Kerrich moved up to ride beside Beth, Pamela watched him suspiciously. Just as she suspected, he allowed the stableboy to hand Beth the reins.

"No," Pamela called. "This is her first ride!"

But they pretended she was too far back for them to hear her, and when she kicked at the nag's sides and tried to get it to trot, she encountered nothing but a snort of exasperation from the horse. She, Pamela Lockhart Ripley, was left behind because of an old nag.

As if she
were
an old nag.

Slumping back into the saddle, Pamela resolved to speak to Kerrich as soon as they returned to his home about his abominable disregard for Beth's safety. That was if the child didn't fall off, although Kerrich kept her to a walk, kept close to her side, and kept the stableboy along her other side. Then they disappeared around a bend.

Part of Pamela's fretfulness was pure exhaustion. She hadn't slept well the previous night, although, just as Lord Kerrich had promised, her bed was comfortable, her sleeping chamber well-ventilated and next to Beth's, and she had been awarded every privilege. Much as she hated to admit it, Hannah was right. Pamela felt guilty. Guilty and desperately afraid someone would see through her disguise. It wasn't that it bothered her to make a fool of Kerrich. No, the cocky boy had clearly grown into an overbearing man. But Lord Reynard was another tale.

Tightening the bow under her chin, she hoped that the riding hat Moulton had scraped up for her shaded her face enough to hide the lines where her pale powder and red rouge met the true colors of her skin. When she'd applied her disguise this morning, she hadn't planned on riding in the sunshine… and because of her secret guilt, she could scarcely bear to look at herself in the mirror.

Yes, Lord Reynard made her feel guilty. He had peered at her with interest, and she could have sworn he was on the point of remembering her. Remembering her as being young and pretty, not the middle-aged spinster his grandson so disdained. But he hadn't, and every time she thought about it, she almost fainted in relief that he hadn't recognized her, and felt guilty—there was that word again!— that she should be tricking a man of his years. Then she worried that he had recognized her, and for some nefarious reason of his own kept his mouth shut. Yet what nefarious reason would such an old man have for abetting her in her disguise?

The answer was—he had no reason. That she even worried about it proved Kerrich had influenced her so that she spied conspiracies everywhere. Kerrich was a menace to sense and honor.

And safety. Pamela rode around the bend and looked ahead on the path. Cats and mittens, that was Beth stretched out there in Kerrich's arms!

She experienced an unwelcome jolt of fear. What if the poor child was hurt? Then Kerrich would truly wish to send her back, and demand a new child, a tougher one this time.

This time she didn't abide any headstrong disobedience from the horse, but kicked it into a trot until she could get to the child—and the man. "What happened?" she asked in a ringing tone.

"We didn't stand you up fast enough to avoid her censure," Kerrich told Beth. His top hat rested on the grass beside him, and the bush behind him framed him in green and dappled him with sunshine. With Beth in his arms grinning at him, he looked like the subject of a Watteau painting instead of the careless rake Pamela knew him to be.

Beth rubbed her head. "I'm fine, Miss Lockhart."

The stableboy rushed to help Pamela dismount, but she swung out of the saddle before he could reach her. "You bumped your head."

"That's not what hurts the worst, but you'll yell at me if I rub that." With Kerrich's arm under her elbow, Beth rose, and tottered momentarily.

Pamela rushed forward, anxious as a mother, but Kerrich turned his shoulder and blocked her.

"Anything broken?" Kerrich led Beth a few steps along the side of the path. "Anything sprained?"

"No. I can ride more!"

Pamela swallowed a surprise upswelling of tears. Surely it was nothing more than the fear of her plan going astray with Beth's injury. It couldn't be that she already felt a surfeit of affection for Beth. And certainly not hurt that Kerrich had rudely turned her aside. In that decisive tone that came so easily, she said, "That's enough riding for this afternoon."

Beth whined, "Ah, Miss Lockhart…"

"Walk a little farther. Work out the bruises." Kerrich let go of Beth and with his hands on his hips and his head turned as he observed the child's progress, he said, "So, Miss Lockhart, you don't ascribe to the theory that she should get right back up on the horse?"

And for no reason, Pamela found herself struck mute by his magnificence.

He stood there, displaying his profile. Each bone in his face thrust at the tanned skin, speaking boldly of his noble heritage. His chin was stubborn, his nose jutted forth, his forehead was high. His lips… ah, his lips were soft and full, sensual and inviting. His fine black woolen riding suit fit him beautifully, sketching the width of his shoulders, the breadth of his chest, his narrow waist and his disconcertingly long legs. He was the most handsome man she'd ever met—and she noticed it! She, who despised men on principle and handsome rakes in particular, suddenly observed this man's physical charms in the same way any adulterer leers at a pretty girl.

She scarcely knew how to respond, only that she should hide her thoughts under a facade of words. "Knowing how to ride will do her little good should you decide to dismiss her, my lord."

Why now? Why him? Perhaps it was because, when he wasn't looking at her, she no longer felt the pressure of being the older, genderless Miss Lockhart. But she must remember that Kerrich was a libertine. A liar. A manipulator.

This morning she had been so busy despising him and wanting to please him at the same time, she hadn't reacted to his sheer, absolute glamour. Now she saw it, saw him, and in a total twist on her usual emotions, she was embarrassed to have him see the riding raiment she had thrown together. One of Lady Temperly's black woolen mourning gowns. An old-fashioned olive-green jacket. And a riding hat forgotten by one of Kerrich's ladies and never retrieved. As if it mattered what Pamela wore!

In an impatient movement, he slapped his riding crop along his boot. "As you justly pointed out this morning, my grandfather's involvement leaves me no choice except to keep the child."

Her unanticipated interest in Kerrich's appearance horrified her. What was worse, her interest would horrify
him.
He would be afraid she would appear nightly in his bedchamber
sans
clothing. And she dared not declare she would not, for just an hour ago she would have sworn no man's charms could move her. Her moral fiber was under assault; she must battle the onset of shallow longings!

Kerrich glanced toward her, and in a sudden shift his voice oozed honey and persuasion. "The child's got a good seat, surely you could see that, and who didn't have a tumble or two when they were learning to ride? She'll learn all kinds of proper lessons from you, Miss Lockhart, of that I have no doubt, but let me teach her to enjoy herself. I think there's been little enough pleasure in her short life."

"Yes." She was still in a daze, fumbling for her former rationality and worrying that he was showing not just a fleeting interest in Beth, but genuine sensitivity. "That's true, but—"

"Good, then we're agreed." His regard focused beyond her. "Look, there's Lady Smithwick and two of her daughters riding toward us. Let us introduce Beth to them."

His proposal snapped some sense back into Pamela. "We can't do that, it's too soon!"

He didn't take his gaze away from the three ladies riding with their groom, and his smile widened as they got closer, but his voice snapped with authority. "Miss Lockhart, while I know you consider me a fribble, what I am doing is important to both me and my family. I am fighting a battle against time and Beth's spill has the makings of a gratifying accident."

Pamela did consider him a fribble, she did believe he was fighting a battle against time and Beth's spill did have the makings of a gratifying accident, for they could use it to spread the word about the child. Nevertheless, she felt she had to voice a protest. "But, my lord, those are Fairchilds."

"Yes, blatherskites, and that's the best thing that can be said about them." He glanced at her. "Miss Lockhart, we have no way of getting out of meeting these ladies, and I recognize the hand of fate when I see it. Kindly bring Beth to me so she may be introduced, and let them carry the rumor of my philanthropy back to society!"

"Yes, sir." As she walked toward the place where Beth stood watching, Pamela knew Kerrich was right on all counts. No dreadful damage could come of this encounter. It was only her pride that desired a perfectly behaved child and her compassion that perceived Beth's incipient anxiety.

"Ho, there." Kerrich bowed as the ladies rode closer. "A lucky appointment, indeed!"

Stepping between them and Beth, Pamela quickly finger-combed Beth's shoulder-length hair and wished the child wore something besides a serving maid's cast-off clothing. Yet to Beth, she projected complete confidence. "Lord Kerrich wishes that you meet Lady Smithwick, Miss Fairchild, and her sister. Let us quickly make you tidy and take you to meet the kind women."

Beth's eyes darted from side to side. "I don't want to."

"Nonsense," Pamela said in a bracing tone. "You will charm them, and Lord Kerrich is there to help you. Besides"—she turned, put her hand on Beth's shoulder and shepherded her slowly forward—"it's good practice for you, and later when we return to our schoolroom, you may ask me any questions you have about the experience."

Beth's voice sank to a whisper. "What if I do something wrong?"

"We are in the park. No one expects more than just courtesy, which you have in abundance."

Kerrich obviously had set the scene, for as they approached, the beautiful young ladies and the plump older one were smiling at the child with the vivacity of confirmed gossips who realize the greatest tidbit of the entire year may just have fallen into their laps. Pamela dropped back as they reached Kerrich's side, and watched as Beth curtsied and smiled timidly and responded to their questions in a demure voice.

"She's a pleasant little thing," Lady Smithwick said in an approving tone. "It's so good of you, Lord Kerrich, and so indicative of your good nature and high moral fiber—"

Pamela was proud that she refrained from snorting.

"—to take her into your home when you don't even know if she is descended from bad stock."

Kerrich wrapped his arm around Beth before she could step forward. A good thing, Pamela thought, since her small, skinny fists were clenched. Projecting her voice with the calm authority of the Miss Lockhart she had become, Pamela said, "But Lord Kerrich does know the child's background. She is the daughter of an ancient but poverty-stricken family in the North. Her father was a trusted assistant, killed while performing a heroic deed in Lord Kerrich's service."

The ladies looked crestfallen.

In an overly loud whisper to her sister, the younger Miss Fairchild said, "So she's not his bastard?"

Lady Smithwick snapped at the girl, "Certainly not! I never thought such a thing." Which was an obvious lie. Turning back to the party on the ground, she trilled, "Lord Kerrich, God will undoubtedly bless you for your kindness."

"Yes, but you'd better not bring her out again until the seamstress has finished her new garments." The elder daughter covered her mouth as she giggled. "She is dressed like a serving maid!"

Kerrich still held Beth, although now he appeared to be hugging her rather than restraining her. "You are ever wise, Miss Fairchild. Of course, I take your advice."

As they rode away, Kerrich smiled and bowed, Beth and Pamela curtsied.

For a long moment, Kerrich looked down at Beth, then angrily turned on Pamela. "Miss Lockhart, this is your fault. Why did you not tell me Beth needed clothing?"