The Poor Relation (14 page)

Impulsive she might be, but not stupid.  She knew better than to try to break up a brutal fight between the sort of ruffians who were engaged in such barbaric behavior.  Yet she hadn’t the faintest idea of what to do next.  It was obvious something had to be done, however.  Feeling extremely foolish, in desperation she called
, “Hello!  Is anyone there?”

A long, palatable silence ensued.  Beads of perspiration broke out on her brow.  She was dizzy with fear and quickly took several fortifying gulps of air. Its coolness shocked her into action once more.

“Who’s there?  Is anyone hurt?”  Her voice was quaking, and she was incapable of shouting, her mouth was like cotton.  Within moments, there came the heavy tread of boots, and she saw the outline of a large man, crouched low, running along the path.  Then she heard only the wobbly trill of a slightly off key soprano competing with the pianoforte.

Cautiously, Chloe peered through the brushes while tiptoeing stealthily along the tall border.  Hearing another groan, she braved the first break
she came to in the yews, and her soft satin slipper kicked a body lying on the ground.  Losing her balance, she came crashing down on top of someone.

Appalled that she might inflict more pain on the poor injured soul, she tried to jump up when her upper arm was seized in a vice-like grip.  As
she started to rise, the person clung to her, then with another groan, fell back to the ground.  She quickly rolled off the man onto her knees.

“Oh,
sir, you are hurt!” she cried in alarm.

She felt his body stiffen and groped to find his head, then cradled the side of his face in her hand.
  “Can you speak, sir?”

He mumbled incoherently, something that sounded rather more like annoyance than pain.  Somewhat heartened, she used her other hand to run her fingers lightly over a broad torso and felt the stick pin in his cravat, cut in the shape of a rectangle. 
A sigh escaped her and she said, “Oh, good heavens.” When her fingers brushed his lips, he caught them in a strong grasp, but not before she felt the swollen lip and the hot sticky wetness of blood.

“My lord,” exhaled Chloe, truly frightened, though not for herself.  The
Viscount, whom she thought invincible, was now laying flat on his back.  “Tell me where you hurt?  No, wait!  I will go for help!”

She pulled away, only to be instantly jerked back by the hand that still held hers, falling heavily on top of his hard chest, and heard the air painfully expelled from his lungs.  Just as suddenly, he flung her aside, where she landed ungracefully on her rump as he raised himself on one elbow and turned away from her to cast up his accounts.

Once the retching sounds ceased, she laid a shaky hand tentatively on his shoulder.  He shifted his weight to his other elbow, using his body to block the odor and sight of his disgrace.

“What are you doing here?” he managed to wheeze in a hoarse whisper.

“I was on the terrace when I saw that monster attacking you.”

“So naturally you came charging to my rescue, all alone?” He sounded incredulous.

“Well, I was not aware it was you that abominable man was unmercifully beating.”

“He shouldn’t have had the chance except that I was careless and let him get the drop on me.  But what you did makes even less sense.  You were willing to forfeit your life to help a complete stranger?”

He was actually angry with her, the ungrateful brute!  “You make me sound moronic.”

“So
you are!” he retorted in a fierce whisper.

“We are only a few yards f
rom the drawing room.  I could have screamed--”

“Use that
beautiful head of yours, Chloe.  With the doors closed and the musicians playing, no one would hear you.”

As the eerie light from the moon silhouetted hi
s darker form against the grass, she removed her hand from his shoulder and took in his powerful frame.  He was right, of course.  Her screams would have been futile.  Still, she shuddered to think of the outcome had she not shown up when she did.

He let out another involuntary groan
and clutched his stomach.  She realized he was in considerable pain.  Reaching for him, she asked, “How can I help?”

“You can’t.  I don’t want you involved. 
Go back inside.  Pretend nothing has happened.”

“Now whose mi
nd is to let,” she answered tartly.  “My gown must be quite beyond repair, especially after you were so conscious of my welfare and ungallantly shoved me away.”

“Forgive me,” he said with heavy sarcasm.  “I’m not my usual suave self.”

“Let us quit fencing, Lord Camden.  There is definitely something havey-cavey going on here.  If you were to tell me, perhaps I can help extricate you from whatever trouble you are in.”

He stared at her a moment before laughing
softly.  “You’re a jewel among women, do you know that Chloe?”  She wished she could see his eyes, tantalized as she was by the warmth of his voice.  “Of all my female acquaintances, I can’t think of another woman who would willingly sacrifice her personal safety for me, to say nothing of ruining a ball gown.”  He laughed again, a harsh sound with that familiar sarcastic edge.  “But you are far safer not knowing what’s afoot.  In fact, you would do well to shun my company altogether, considering my penchant for fisticuffs.”

“Must you persist in cracking jokes over such a serious matter, my lord?” she admonished him.

“Call me Oliver.  I believe our relationship has progressed far enough along for us to address each other by our Christian names.”  He paused, but when she did not reply, he said, “Say my name, Chloe.” 

“Oliver,” she began, drawing out the syllables
and deciding she liked the way it rolled off her tongue.  “Will you tell me why that horrible man is trying to hurt you?”

“Answer me this, Chloe, has it ever crossed you
r naïve intellect that I might be the villain in all this?”

Without the slightest hesitation, she vehemently replied, “Never!”

He shook his head in disbelief, then shifted and tried to rise.  She immediately came to his aid, taking his elbow to help support him and was surprised when he offered no resistance.  He placed an arm across her shoulders, although she was hardly supporting any of his weight, and studied her upturned face with the moonlight illuminating it.

“The salon doors at the back terrace should be open,” he said, leading the way as if they were out for a leisurely stroll. 

“You are not going to tell me anything, are you, Oliver?”

“Ah, you are astute.  No, my dear, I am not.”  He must have felt her disappointment and anger as she stiffened her shoulders.  “But it is not because I do not trust you.  Far from it, my valiant girl.”

When they came to the salon’s French doors, instead of reaching for the handle, he stopped and drew her closer to him.

“Ride with me tomorrow morning?” he asked.

“You will forgive me if I find your request incredible since you have just warned me of the danger of being seen in your company?”

“So you do possess claws,” he
mildly reprimanded her.  “Truth is, you’ll be safe with me during the daylight hours.  No one’s fool enough to try anything then, and neither will I.”  There was the slightest hint of regret in his voice as he pulled her roughly against his hard chest.  His arms encircled her as his chin came to rest lightly on top of her head.

“I don’t think I could live with myself if anything happened to you,” he whispered with what she could only interpret as an affectionate squeeze.  Lett
ing her go, he opened the door and ushered her into the salon and over to the door opening onto the hall.  “Now, make your way upstairs as fast as you can.  Don’t worry about coming back down.  I’ll make your excuses to Lady Milbanke, something about you having the headache and retiring early.”

“But what about t
he cut on your mouth?” Surely anyone looking at his face would know he’d been in a fight.

“Trust me, Chloe.  I’ll take care of it.  Now go, and do not walk that blasted dog tonight.”  He opened the door to have a quick look.  With his hand at the small of her back, he said, “Until tomorrow morning,” and sent her flying out into the corridor.

She did not chance looking back, as she could hear voices coming from the drawing room, but hiked up her skirts and raced for the stairs.  When she reached her room, she quickly undressed and donned her wrapper.  Picking up the gown, she used the water in the basin on the dresser and tried her best to scrub off the grass stains.  Hannah was bound to inquire about them, she thought ruefully, and wondered how she could explain the ruination of her best gown.

Then, the Viscount’s fervent
avowal that he could not bear the thought of anything happening to her popped into her mind, and a very large smile split her face.  He’d also asked her to call him Oliver.  He must care for her.

In the very next instant, copious tears rained down her cheeks as the beautiful widow’s warnings and Camden’s own damning words came back to her.  There was no question that the man was a rake of unscrupulous character and even now was involved in some nefarious intrigue while accepting the hospitality of a friend.  He was probably a spy as rumor had it, though she never doubted on whose side he w
orked.

Blowing her nose on a lace handkerchief, she pondered his words again.  Certainly his actions bespoke more than mere friendship, and reluctantly she acknowledged how grateful she was that he had even noticed she existed.  Still, such a rogue would have little regard for a penniless nobody like her
.  Yes, she’d be wise to keep her guard up, resisting all his amorous advances and regularly reminding herself of his reputation as a practiced womanizer.

In the end, all the self castigation, all the soul searching was for naught.  Despite her better judgment, despite the widow’s warning, Chloe determined to ride out with him on the morrow if for no more than the sheer pleasure of his company.  After all, there could be no real danger in that.

***  Chapter 12  ***

The day dawned bright, and in anticipation of spending the morning with the Viscount, Chloe rose early and donned her favorite habit of deep amber.  It was a perfect foil for the golden highlights of her hair, which she piled up under a toque with a sassy black feather. She descended the stairs in record time for breakfast.  When she entered the dining room, there Camden sat, hunched over a plate of scrambled eggs, kidneys and a beefsteak.

She noted that, except for a small cut on his lower lip, his face wasn’t marred,
and he appeared to be suffering no lingering malady from the beating.  Indeed, from the amount of food piled on his plate and the gusto with which he attacked it, Chloe was hard pressed to believe that he had sustained even one blow the previous night.

He glanced up and greeted her with a warm smile, and her heart actually lurched within her breast.  Managing an outward calm she far from felt, she exchanged a few pleasantries about the weather, took a seat across from him, and accepted a cup of hot chocolate from the footman.  Reaching for a silver bread basket, she willed her racing heart to behave.

“You look charming for so early in the day,” he complimented her after his connoisseur’s eye had critically assessed her person.  He smiled again as Chloe felt a blush mount her cheeks.

Thanking him, she tried to hide her self consciousness, and a companionable silence ensued while he polished off his plate and she diligently applied herself to butt
ering and eating a muffin.  No sooner had she drained her cup than Camden was at her elbow, ready to lead her out to the stables where a groom waited with his stallion and a dappled gray mare.

“Ah, I see Brutus is as anxious as I am to be off this morning.  He’s going to be more rambunctious than usual with a lady to show off for.”  There was a teasing note in Camden’s voice that Chloe decided was best to ignore.

With big front hooves impatiently striking the ground, the glossy black stallion tossed its massive head about, snorting and generally giving the groom a bad time.  To Chloe’s immense relief, for she was far from being an accomplished rider, her mount was neither prancing nor pulling on her bit.  And though the pretty mare stood quietly, its intelligent eyes and sleek lean lines bespoke spirit.  Stroking the velvety nose and talking softly to introduce herself, Chloe found half a carrot placed in her hand.

“Her name is Buttercup, and I am told
she is one of the Marchioness’s favorites,” supplied Camden.

His mouth
was so incredibly close to her ear that his breath warmed her neck.  A tantalizing shiver ran through her, and she took a step back to put some distance between her and the Viscount.

Ever careful not to offend, she asked, “Is it all right
if I ride her?”

“You have the Marchioness’s blessing since she’s had little time for such activity of late,” he replied.  “Ready?”

Before she could react, his large hands spanned her waist, instantly setting her pulses aflutter, and he lifted her up onto the saddle as though she were weightless.  She refused to thank him for such cavalier treatment and became busy gathering up the reins and arranging her skirts across Buttercup’s back.  All the while, she reminded herself of her resolve to stay on her guard, for this man was a Casanova of the first order.  Besides, fluttering pulses were for schoolroom misses.