Smuggler's Lady (8 page)

The threat had the desired effect; the small face set, the shoulders stiffened as Rob determined to endure Walter's examination in silence. Damian turned back to the French doors, hiding his smile. “You there!” He summoned one of the workmen. “Can you find someone to go to Pendennis and tell Lady Blake what has occurred? There is nothing to concern her unduly, and I will convey the lad home myself as soon as he has rested.”

“Aye, I'll go meself, m'lord. She'll be in a right taking, I'll be bound. Thinks the world of those boys, Lady Merrie does.” The man went off at a run and Damian returned to the library. So, she was Lady Merrie to the villagers—still a Trelawney for them, presumably, although they gave her the Blake courtesy title. It was all most interesting: Lady Blake, Merrie Trelawney, Lady Merrie. What other facets of her personality were there?

Walter looked up from his examination of Rob's arm as his lordship came into the room. “Is it broken, Walter?”

The batman shook his head. “No, it's not broken as far as I can see. Just a severe sprain and painful enough, Colonel, and it needs a splint. He's a game lad, though. I haven't heard a whimper.”

“Of course you haven't.” Rutherford smiled at the white-faced Rob. “He's a Trelawney when all's said and done.” He poured a tot of brandy from the decanter on the sideboard and brought it over to the sofa. “Drink this, Rob. It'll blur the edges a little when Walter fixes the splint.”

Rob obediently swallowed, choked, and swallowed again. A little color crept back in his face. “I should go home, sir. Merrie will be worried if I am late for dinner.”

“I have sent a message to her so she will not worry. When you have rested, I will take you home.” He watched the lad with considerable compassion. Walter was as gentle as it was possible to be, but Rob was in great discomfort as the soldier fastened splints and a tight bandage.

“That's the ticket,” Walter said after what seemed to poor Rob an eternity. “If there is any possibility of a fracture, that'll see to it. You'd best keep away from roofs in future, my lad.”

The sound of voices in the hall saved Rob from further strictures. “Where is his lordship, Harry?” It was Meredith's voice, clear and brisk, but the edge of anxiety was unmistakable.

Damian strode from the room immediately. The chances of old Harry Perry having any notion of the drama that had been enacted was fairly remote. Both he and his wife seemed blind and deaf to the outside world. “I am here, Lady Blake. But there was no need for you to come yourself. Did the messenger not tell you that I would convey Rob home?”

“Yes, yes, indeed he did.” Meredith drew off her gloves with hands that shook slightly. “But you must know, my lord, that I could not put you to such inconvenience. I am so sorry for the trouble you have already been caused. Is—is he truly unharmed?” The sloe eyes were enormous in her pale face and Rutherford took her hands, frowning at their coldness.

“My dear girl, do not be in such a fret,” he enjoined her, chafing her fingers. “The boy's had the devil of a shock and has sprained his arm badly. He's lucky it were no worse, but I think he has been punished sufficiently for his recklessness.”

“Rob is quite incapable of associating cause and effect,” said Hugo forcefully, coming into the hall at this point. “I am always telling him he should not go about with the village boys, but much notice he takes. Perhaps this time, Merrie, you will insist he pay heed, or you can be sure that, as soon as his arm is better, he will have quite forgot the lesson and be hip deep in trouble again. I hope you do not mind, sir”—he turned punctiliously to Rutherford—“but I charged your stable lad with the care of the gig.”

“That is what he is there for,” Damian observed drily. “I think, if you will take my advice, Hugo, that you would do well not to lecture Rob at present. He is not feeling quite the thing, for all that he's a game little bantam.”

“Where is he?” Merrie asked, tossing her gloves onto the hall table and untying the ribbons of her chip hat. “In the library?”

Damian held the door for her. She almost ran past him to the sofa where Rob was struggling to sit up against the cushions. What happened next surprised Lord Rutherford. He had expected her to fall all over the boy, fussing and scolding in true female fashion, achieving nothing but the relief of her own feelings and the exacerbation of the patient's. Instead, with no indication of her earlier distress, she examined Rob's face carefully, looked closely into his eyes, nodding her satisfaction before scrutinizing Walter's handiwork.

“You did not send for the doctor, Lord Rutherford?”

His lordship shook his head. “Walter is more skilled than any country sawbones, ma'am. His expertise once saved me from the surgeon's knife in a field hospital. I'd trust him with a deal more than a sprain.”

A frown appeared in her eyes and she gave him an interested, speculative look as if she would like to pursue the subject, but then turned back to Rob, saying matter-of-factly, “So, you managed not to break it this time.”

Her brother grinned weakly. “I would have broke
all
of my bones if Lord Rutherford had not caught me.”

“I fear that ‘caught' is not quite the right word,” his lordship observed, turning from the sideboard where he was pouring two glasses of port. “Lady Blake?” He handed one to her. “You will find it restorative,” he said, seeing the look of refusal in her eyes. “I think you are in need of it.”

There was a firmness behind the polite tone, but Merrie had the unmistakable impression that it arose simply out of concern for her. His expression bore none of the signs of annoyance, superiority, sarcasm that so offended her. And young Rob was regarding his lordship with worshipful, trusting eyes. He was a most puzzling man, one minute so odious she would be glad never to see him again, the next warm and compassionate. And when he smiled or laughed with genuine pleasure, it was as if the sun had come out on a rainy day. Her calm front with Rob had clearly not deceived him, and she could not deny the sense of relief that came from having a fellow adult concerning himself with her brother's well-being, not to mention her own.

Meredith took the wine with a word of thanks, having the strong suspicion that her host would not take no for an answer. “We appear to owe you a great deal, my lord,” she said. “Not only does my brother trespass on your property, but you are then obliged to pick up the pieces. I do not know how to apologize.”

“It is a great deal too bad of you, Rob,” Hugo put in. “You have been told, I don't know how many times, not to run with the village boys, but you do not care a jot for Merrie's feelings. You have put her in a monstrous uncomfortable position. The story will be around the houses in no time and then she will have to listen to the old cats—”

“That is enough, Hugo,” Merrie said quietly. “I know you mean well.” She patted his arm, fully sensible of the truth of his words, although wishing, as always, that he could be a little more tactful. “But it will not help Rob to hear those things at present.”

“I hate Hugo!” Rob declared on a choked sob. “He's always prosing on. I know I shouldn't have done it, but I'd sooner have a thrashing than listen to Hugo going on about it for the next year!”

Meredith raised her eyes to the ceiling. It occurred to Rutherford that she had probably had about as much as she could bear for one day. “We will leave these two to their own devices,” he said in accents that brooked no argument. “Let us take a turn about the garden.”

“But I must take Rob home,” Merrie protested.

“You shall do so shortly and I will escort you. For the moment, you are going to take a turn about the garden. I would like your advice on one or two matters.” Cupping her elbow, he propelled her with an almost indecent haste through the French doors and into the air.

For some reason, Merrie found that she had no desire to argue with this decisive action. There was something most appealing about leaving decisions up to someone else for once. She smiled ruefully. “It is not at all kind to desert Rob. Hugo is determined to have his say.”

“And it will do that young scamp no harm to hear it,” Rutherford declared forcefully. “Besides, I do not care to see you looking harassed. You are far too young to carry the burdens of the world upon your shoulders, Merrie Trelawney, for all your talk about widows of advanced years.” This last was said with sardonic emphasis. “It seems to me that, if you are not concerning yourself with the plight of baby birds, you are being plagued to death by those quarrelsome youngsters. I should inform you, ma'am, that I intend to do something about it.”

Meredith was for a moment too taken aback by this forthright statement to reply. While it was a declaration of intent that ought to have enraged her with its cool assumption of command, his motives for making it could only be interpreted as friendly and concerned. Her elbow was still held in a firm clasp, so her feet were obliged to follow the direction dictated by her companion.

“Has the cat run away with your tongue, Lady Blake?” he teased when the silence continued.

“I think you delight in putting me at a disadvantage, sir,” she retorted. “You are quite sensible of the obligation I am under. I have no choice but to keep silent, for, if I replied to you, I fear I should be most impolite, and I cannot repay your kindness in such a manner.

“I have never heard such a Banbury story,” his lordship scoffed. “Nothing would prevent your saying whatever you wished to me, as well you know. The fact is, my lady, you cannot come up with a suitable reply.”

“Oh, you are quite odious,” Merrie grumbled, unable to refute the charge. “But I
am
determined not to quarrel with you this afternoon. Your kindness to Rob forbids it. However, it will be much easier if you do not provoke me, as you seem to take so much pleasure in doing.”

“I had rather thought it was the other way around,” Rutherford said evenly. “From the very first, you have never lost an opportunity to make some derogatory remark—by innuendo, I grant you, but I am neither deaf nor obtuse.”

Merrie's jaw dropped and she stopped in her tracks. “How can you possibly say that? I have merely been responding to intolerable ...” Memory of those kisses rose with unwelcome clarity. She bit her lip. “It is time I returned home, Lord Rutherford.”

“Presently you shall. We will not pursue this topic for the moment, interesting though it is. I wish you to relax a little, and I do not think that that discussion will help you to do so,” he replied blandly. “Now, will you tell me what should be planted in this border? I know little of such things, but I was much struck by your flower garden at Pendennis.”

There seemed little option but obedience. And in all truth, Meredith was loath to continue with the subject herself. There were some distinctly uncomfortable implications lurking in its depth, ones she would prefer to examine in privacy. She turned her attention to the noncombative matter of flowers and a good twenty minutes passed in this pleasant fashion until she recalled Rob.

“I
must
return to Pendennis.” She turned back to the house. “I shall put Rob in Nan's charge for the evening, which she will enjoy a great deal more than he, I daresay.”

“Who is Nan?” his lordship inquired, keeping pace with her.

“Oh, she was our nurse but now devotes most of her care to me.” Merrie laughed. “She is a veritable bully and my knees knock whenever she frowns, but I could not manage without her, and Rob will mind her.”

“That is, indeed, fortunate,” his lordship observed and Merrie looked at him sharply.

“It is only high spirits,” she said. “There is not an ounce of—”

“Hush. I do not recall saying that there was.” Lord Rutherford, smiling, placed a long finger on her lips. “There is no call to rip up at me this time. I meant no criticism of Rob. He is neither better nor worse than any other boy his age. But do not tell me he is not a handful.”

Since his finger remained pressed to her lips, Merrie was unable to tell him anything. Besides, when he smiled at her like that, all acerbity left her. He waited until the fire died in the sloe eyes before removing the finger, which he then placed beneath her chin.

“No,” Merrie whispered, knowing what he was about to do. Her eyes darted wildly from side to side. “Not here.”

“Somewhere else, then?” he asked gently, the gray eyes glinting.

“No!” she almost shouted although she knew she had invited the mischievous question. With a little, choked gasp, she jerked herself away from the finger, turning back to the house almost at a run.

Rutherford followed, chuckling to himself. Perhaps it was not gentlemanly to play with her in that manner, but it was quite irresistible—as irresistible as the urge to kiss her again, to feel that supple pliancy reaching against him.

They reentered the library where the atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. Rob glowered resentfully at his sister. Hugo bore the mien of one who has satisfactorily discharged an unpleasant duty, and Lord Rutherford was hard pressed to keep a straight face. He dispatched Hugo to fetch the gig and tell the stable lad to saddle Saracen, then suggested briskly to the younger boy that he try his legs.

Rob appeared much recovered. When his reproachful looks bore no fruit from either of the adults, he seemed to forget his grievance. He was soon installed in the gig beside Merrie who took the pony's reins. Hugo, who was on horseback, rode ahead at his sister's request, to alert the household to their impending arrival.

“It is kind in you to escort us, Lord Rutherford, but I am sure you must have more pressing matters to attend to.” Merrie flicked the reins and the dappled pony shook its head with a chink of the bridle, snuffling disgustedly as she hauled her burden down the drive.