Slightly Dangerous (6 page)

Either way they were rather disturbing eyes since, though they could not be seen into, they certainly seemed to possess extraordinary power to see right through one’s head to the hair on the back of it. Seeing them from close range and
feeling
them penetrate her skull had more than confirmed her initial impression that he would be a dangerous man to provoke.
Had
she provoked him? No more than a slightly troublesome gnat buzzing by his ear, she supposed—or flying into his eye.

She sighed and finished off her fairy cake. She was licking her fingers when Justin arrived in her corner. She jumped gladly to her feet, and they hugged each other warmly.

“Justin!” she cried. “It has been forever.”

“
And
a day,” he agreed, grinning at her. “It was Easter, actually. I like your hair short. You look prettier than ever. You have just been making the acquaintance of the great man, I see. I’ll wager Mel had a few sleepless nights after she discovered that Hector had invited him here.”

“And then she came to Hyacinth Cottage to persuade me to come too so that the numbers would be even again,” Christine said, grimacing. “And you know what Melanie is like when she has her mind set upon something. I did not stand a chance.”

“Poor Chrissie!” He laughed at her. “And lucky me.”

Christine relaxed for the first time all day, it seemed.

“C
HRISTINE WAS MARRIED
to my poor cousin Oscar,” Lady Renable explained to Wulfric. “Perhaps you knew him? He was Viscount Elrick’s younger brother. He was charming and well loved. His death was a tragedy, especially for Christine, who was forced to return to her mother’s house in the village here. She was the daughter of the village schoolmaster when Oscar married her. She did brilliantly for herself. But, alas, it did not last, and now I feel dreadfully sorry for her. It is why I invited her here. She is a dear friend of mine and needs some diversion.”

Her name had led Wulfric to realize that she must be a relative of Elrick’s, and then when she had explained that she was a widow, he had remembered that Elrick had lost his only brother a few years back. But it would seem that she was not Elrick’s dependent but was living with her mother and was forced to rely upon the charity of her friends to invite her to entertainments like this. Oscar Derrick, Wulfric guessed, had either been impoverished to start with, or—more likely—had squandered his fortune. His widow did not appear to have private means.

She was dressed far less finely than any of the other ladies. Indeed, when he had first set eyes—or eye—upon her, he had mistaken her for a servant. Her muslin dress was decent enough but not by any means in the first stare of fashion. Neither was she particularly young. She was well into her twenties, at a guess. She had a pretty, wide-eyed, rather round face, which—it had been impossible not to notice—was sun-bronzed. And, if that were not bad enough, there was a dusting of freckles across her nose. Her hair was dark and short and curly.

She looked thoroughly countrified and quite out of place among Lady Renable’s guests. But then, she
was
out of place. She had indeed made a brilliant marriage, but she was in fact a
schoolmaster’s
daughter—and a markedly impertinent one too. It was too bad for her that Derrick had been inconsiderate enough to die young.

Mrs. Derrick, Wulfric decided, was definitely not a lady whose acquaintance he would pursue during the coming two weeks. But then, the same might be said of almost every other lady guest too. He was beginning to realize how colossal a mistake he had made in so impulsively accepting an invitation that had been made verbally and at second hand—and via the notoriously vague Lord Mowbury.

Lady Sarah Buchan, though she had been introduced to him not half an hour since, was making him a deep curtsy again.

“I
must
ask you, your grace,” she said, gazing at him with huge brown eyes, her cheeks still flushed with color, “which morning activity you prefer—riding or walking. I have a wager with Miriam Dunstan-Lutt, even though I know it is not at all the thing for ladies to wager.” She tittered.

He had not been on the marriage mart for a long time, and ladies of all ages as well as their mamas had stopped courting him a number of years ago on the correct assumption that he was not to be caught. Nevertheless, though he was out of practice, he could recognize a trap when he encountered one.

“I normally write letters and conduct business in the mornings while my brain is fresh, Lady Sarah,” he said curtly, “and do my riding and walking later in the day. Which do
you
prefer?”

He was already bored almost beyond endurance.

Was the chit really
flirting
with him?

4

M
OST OF THE GUESTS WERE WEARY FROM TRAVELING
and used the time between tea and dinner to rest quietly in their rooms. Wulfric took the opportunity to slip outdoors for some fresh air and exercise. He did not know his way about the park, of course, but he instinctively sought out cover so that he would not be seen from the house and thus invite company. He made his way diagonally across a tree-dotted lawn and took a path through denser trees until he came to the bank of a man-made lake, which had clearly been created for maximum visual effect.

It was not very large, but it was secluded and lovely and peaceful—and completely hidden from the house. It was a pleasant day, warm if not hot, with a light breeze. This, he thought, inhaling deeply, was just what he needed—fresh air and a quiet outdoor setting to restore his spirits after the lengthy journey and the crowded drawing room during tea. There were paths leading off through the trees to either side of him, but he stood where he was, undecided whether to take one of the walks or to remain where he was, simply breathing in the summer scents of water and greenery.

He should have gone home to Lindsey Hall.

But he had not, and so there was no point in wishing now that he had made a different decision.

He was still standing there, content for the moment to be idle, when he heard the distinct rustle of footsteps on the path behind him—the path by which he had come. He was annoyed with himself then that he had not moved off sooner. The last thing he wanted was company. But it was too late now. Whichever of the side paths he took, he would be unable to move out of sight before whoever it was emerged onto the bank and saw him.

He turned with barely concealed annoyance.

She was marching along with quite unladylike strides, minus either bonnet or gloves, and her head was turned back over her shoulder as if to see who was coming along behind her. Before Wulfric could either move out of the way or alert her to impending disaster, she had collided with him full-on. He grasped her upper arms too late and found himself with a noseful of soft curls before she jerked back her head with a squeak of alarm and her nose collided with his.

It seemed somehow almost inevitable, he thought with pained resignation—and with the pain of a smarting nose and watering eyes. Some evil angel must have sent her to this house party just to torment him—or to remind him never again to make an impulsive decision.

Her hand flew to her nose—presumably to discover if it was broken or gushing blood or both. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Mrs. Derrick,” he said with faint hauteur—though it was too late to discourage her from approaching him.

“Oh, dear,” she said, lowering her hand and blinking her eyes, “I am so sorry. How clumsy of me! I was not looking where I was going.”

“You might, then,” he said, “have walked right into the lake if I had not been standing here.”

“But I did not,” she said reasonably. “I had a sudden feeling that I was not alone and looked behind me instead of ahead. And, of all people, it had to be you.”

“I beg your pardon.” He bowed stiffly to her. He might have returned the compliment but did not.

More than ever she looked countrified and without any of the elegance and sophistication he expected of ladies with whom he was obliged to socialize for two weeks. The breeze was ruffling her short curls. The sunlight was making her complexion look more bronzed even than it had appeared in the drawing room. Her teeth looked very white in contrast. Her eyes were as blue as the sky. She was, he conceded grudgingly, really quite startlingly pretty—despite a nose that was reddening by the moment.

“My words
were
ill mannered,” she said with a smile. “I did not mean them quite the way they sounded. But first I spilled lemonade over you, then I engaged you in a staring match only because I objected to your eyebrow, and now I have run into you and cracked your nose with my own. I
do
hope I have used up a whole two weeks’ worth of clumsiness all within a few hours and can be quite decorous and graceful and really rather boring for the rest of my stay here.”

There was not much to be said in response to such a frank speech. But during it she had revealed a great deal about herself, none of which was in any way appealing.

“My choice of path appears to have been serendipitous,” he said, turning slightly away from her. “The lake was unexpected, but it is pleasantly situated.”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” she agreed. “It has always been one of my favorite parts of the park.”

“Doubtless,” he said, planning his escape, “you came out here to be alone. I have disturbed you.”

“Not at all,” she said brightly. “Besides, I came out here to walk. There is a path that winds its way all about the lake. It has been carefully planned to give a variety of sensual pleasures.”

Her eyes caught and held his and she grimaced and blushed.

“Sometimes,” she added, “I do not choose my words with care.”

Sensual pleasures.
That was the phrase that must have embarrassed her.

But instead of striking off immediately onto her chosen path, she hesitated a moment, and he realized that he stood in her way. But before he could move, she spoke again.

“Perhaps,” she said, “you would care to accompany me?”

He absolutely would not care for any such thing. He could think of no less desirable a way of spending the free hour or so before he must change for dinner.

“Or perhaps,” she said with that laughter in her eyes that he had noticed earlier across the drawing room after he had raised his eyebrow and so offended her, “you would not.”

It was spoken like a challenge. And really, he thought, there was something mildly fascinating about the woman. She was so very different from any other woman he had ever encountered. And at least there was nothing remotely flirtatious in her manner.

“I would,” he said, and stepped aside for her to precede him onto the path that led back in among the trees, though it ran parallel to the bank of the lake. He fell into step beside her, since the person who had designed this walk had had the forethought to make it wide enough for two persons to walk comfortably abreast.

They did not talk for a while. Although as a gentleman he was adept at making polite conversation, he had never been a proponent of making noise simply for the sake of keeping the silence at bay. If she was content to stroll quietly, then so was he.

“I believe I have you to thank for my invitation to Schofield,” she said at last, smiling sidelong at him.

“Indeed?” He looked back at her with raised eyebrows.

“After you had been invited,” she said, “Melanie suddenly panicked at the realization that she was to have one more gentleman than lady on her guest list. She dashed off a letter to Hyacinth Cottage to invite me, and, after I had refused, came in person to beg.”

She had just confirmed what he had been beginning to suspect.

“After I had been invited,” he repeated. “By Viscount Mowbury. I daresay the invitation did not come from Lady Renable after all, then.”

“I would not worry about it if I were you,” she said. “Once I had rescued her from impending disaster by agreeing to come after all, she admitted that even if having the Duke of Bewcastle as a guest was not quite such a coup as having the Prince Regent might have been, it was in fact far preferable. She claims—probably quite rightly—that she will be the envy of every other hostess in England.”

He continued to look at her. Then an evil angel really
had
been at work. She was here only because he was—and
he
was here only because he had acted quite out of character.

“You did not
wish
to accept your invitation?” he asked her.

“I did not.” She had been swinging her arms in quite unladylike fashion, but now she clasped them behind her back.

“Because you were offended at being omitted from the original guest list?” She was normally treated as a poor relation and largely ignored, then, was she?

“Because, strange as it may seem, I did not want to come,” she told him.

“Perhaps,” he suggested, “you feel out of your depth in superior company, Mrs. Derrick.”

“I would question your definition of
superior,
” she said. “But in essence you are quite right.”

“And yet,” he said, “you were married to a brother of Viscount Elrick.”

“And so I was,” she said cheerfully.

But she did not pursue that line of conversation. They had emerged from among the trees and were at the foot of a grassy hill dotted with daisies and buttercups.

“Is this not a lovely hill?” she asked him, probably rhetorically. “You see? It takes us above the treetops and gives us a clear view of the village and the farms for miles around. The countryside is like a checkered blanket. Who would ever choose town life over this?”

She did not wait for him or mince her way up the rather steep slope. She strode up ahead of him to the very top of the hill, though they might have skirted around its base, and stood there, spreading her arms to the sides and twirling once about, her face lifted to the sunlight. The breeze, which was more like a wind up there, whipped at her hair and her dress and set the ribbons that tied the latter at the waist streaming outward.

She looked like a woodland nymph, and yet it seemed to him that her movements and gestures were quite uncontrived and unselfconscious. What might have been coquetry in another woman was sheer exuberant delight in her. He had the strange feeling of having stepped—unwillingly—into an alien world.