Three Heroes (29 page)

It was not a delightful day, being overcast and somewhat chilly. But as Lady Vandeimen had remarked when she’d arrived, in this unsettled summer, overcast was a pleasant alternative to rain. The weather had given Clarissa the opportunity to wear a very stylish Prussian blue spencer with bronze braid and frogs, so that was a silver lining.

As they paused to look at the unused bathing machines, however, she said, “I wish the weather would turn warmer. I might brave the water.”

“Do you swim?”

She looked at him. “Not at all. But the dippers take care of the bathers, don’t they?”

“And keep to the shallows.”

He turned to lean back against the wooden railing. A deliberate ploy, surely, to make her breathless at the long, lean length of him, and the strength that was clear, even when he was at rest.

A ploy did not mean that any of it was false. She’d met any number of men in the past days, many of them handsome, but none had the power over her that this man seemed to have.

“We have a river back home,” he said. “The Eden. Perhaps I will take you there to swim one day.”

“Perhaps.” She tried for the same light manner but feared her feelings must show. “But can I trust you not to lead me into deep water?”

His slight smile acknowledged the double entendre. “You can’t really swim in the shallows.”

“I can’t really swim at all.”

“I could teach you.”

“Or drown me.”

His brows rose. “O ye of little faith.”

“O me of great caution, Major.” Lord above, but this verbal play alone could seduce her into folly, never mind all his other charms.

“Hawk,” he reminded her.

“Very well, Hawk. I wonder where the others are,” she asked, looking back.

“Nervous?” he murmured.

“Of course not.” Yet the mere suggestion had stirred nerves within her. The others were only a few yards away, speaking to another party. There were people all around. There was nothing to fear, except the reactions inside herself, which seemed to be rapidly spinning out of control.

“Perhaps you should be nervous.”

She swiveled back to face him. “Why?”

“Because we are already in deep water. Can’t you tell?”

Oh, yes. “We are in public on the Marine Parade in Brighton.”

“Even so…”

The others joined them then, and Clarissa could only be glad. She wasn’t sure she had a coherent response to make.

“The Pytchleys were just speaking of the fair,” Maria Vandeimen said. “They say it is very amusing. Lord Vandeimen and I are thinking of driving out there this afternoon. Perhaps you would care to come if you are free, Miss Greystone, Miss Trist.”

“The fair?” Clarissa asked, trying to surface from deep waters.

“Out on the Downs,” Lord Vandeimen said. “A little wild, but perfectly safe with good escorts.”

She couldn’t help but look at Hawk.

What if the escorts were a little wild?

“I will have to ask Miss Hurstman,” she said.

When asked, Miss Hurstman again made no objection, though to Clarissa she did not seem entirely happy.

“Be sure to stay with your party,” she said to both of them, though it seemed to be directed particularly at Clarissa.

The sun broke through the clouds as the two open carriages rolled up to the sprawling fairground set up on the Downs. Clarissa looked back toward the town spread out before them, with the silvery sea beyond, then turned to the gaudy, hurly-burly jumble of the fair.

“Your eyes are sparkling, Miss Greystone,” said Hawk from his seat opposite her.

“I’ve never been to a fair before.”

He smiled. “Then I’m particularly glad Maria had this fancy.”

They were sharing the vehicle with Lord and Lady Vandeimen, while Althea came behind with the Amleighs and Lord Amleigh’s secretary, Mr. de Vere. Clarissa hoped he wouldn’t catch Althea’s fancy.

He could hardly have a fortune, and seemed mischievous.

They descended from the carriages and headed for the first tents, but they had to pick their way, for the ground was soft after the wet weather and much trampled. This meant that Clarissa must keep a firm hold on Hawk’s arm, which did not displease her at all.

“What fairground pleasure most appeals?” he asked her.

“I don’t know. Everything!”

He laughed, and they paused at a miniature model of Paris, complete with a glassy River Seine.

“Is it true to life?” Clarissa asked.

“Yes, it seems to be,” he said, dropping a coin in the box there, “except that Versailles is not so close.”

She looked at him. “You must have seen many countries.”

“Not so many. My service was confined to Europe.”

She looked at another model, which claimed to be Rome. “I would like to travel. I would like to see Spain, and Italy, and the ruins of Greece.”

“When you have your fortune and your independence, there will be nothing to stop you.”

“True.” But she knew she was not brave enough to wander the world alone. A weakness, but it must be faced. Coming to Brighton was enough of an adventure for her so far.

There was a more popular display, but their party wandered past it without a close look. Clarissa peered and saw that it was a representation of the Battle of Waterloo.

No wonder. But it amazed her to think that their urbane escorts had, not long ago, been part of that dire and desperate affair.

Had killed.

She glanced at Lord Vandeimen of the smooth and silky blond hair—though there was that scar.

Lord Amleigh was more saturnine, but when he smiled, dimples showed.

No one would think that smiling de Vere had been to war. As for Hawk, he looked as if he would hate to have his clothes disarranged, and yet he had been a hero at least once, according to Lord Trevor. And even if he hadn’t raised a sword at Waterloo, he’d been there, among the carnage.

She realized how little she really knew of him. She must be careful.

For the moment, however, she was reveling in innocent fun. They all progressed merrily from sideshows to trials of skill to prizewinning animals. The men teasingly encouraged the ladies to try their hands at everything, applauding successes and commiserating with failures. Lady Amleigh proved to have a very good throwing arm at the coconut shy, and Lady Vandeimen was skilled at archery. Clarissa had no such skills, but she managed a lucky roll at dice, which doubled her sixpence to a shilling, and Althea hooked a cork fish with a little fishing pole to win a carved fan.

They paused outside a black tent spangled with golden stars. “Madame Mystique,” said Lord Vandeimen. “She’s the latest sensation here in Brighton. Would any of you ladies like to have your fortune told?”

Althea said an emphatic no, and the other ladies both made a laughing comment about already having their excellent fortune. Clarissa was tempted, but she didn’t want to be the only one, so she said no as well, and they moved on to the next stall, where sticky buns were for sale. The men hailed this as if they were starving, and soon they all had a bun in their hands, though the ladies had to remove their gloves first.

“This feels wonderfully wicked,” Clarissa declared, licking sweetness from around her lips.

“Wicked?” Hawk asked.

“Standing in a public place eating, and eating so messily! Miss Mallory would definitely not approve.”

He smiled. “We can be a great deal more wicked than this, I assure you, Falcon. But perhaps just as sweetly.”

The others were laughing together and trying to clean sticky fingers. Clarissa savored her last mouthful, looking at him, thinking about the tantalizingly light kiss they’d enjoyed.

“Perhaps you are a devil that tempts rather than a hawk that hunts.”

“Any good hunter knows to lure his prey. And the devil hunts souls, that’s for sure.”

“To their destruction.”

“True.”

Then he grasped her wrist and inspected her hand. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought he would start to lick her fingers clean, but instead he drew her toward some enterprising children who were offering a handwashing service next to the bun stall.

She staggered. His warm, firm fingers were light against her skin, but they were there, sending her nerves jumping.

He let her go, and Clarissa found herself clasping the wrist his fingers had circled, aware of her own frantically pounding pulse.

One smiling girl took his penny, and a second poured cool water over Clarissa’s hands into a bowl. A third offered soap, and Clarissa rubbed away the stickiness, but was careful not to wash her wrist. She wanted the memory of his touch.

A fourth child, a pretty red-haired urchin, offered a towel, and Clarissa dried her hands while watching the other members of the party follow. This was all innocent fun, but something stronger beat beneath it.

She knew it, and knew it to be dangerous, but she couldn’t resist.

Then she was snapped out of her dreamy thoughts by a spot of rain.

She realized that the sun had disappeared again, and a heavier layer of dark clouds was sliding in. The rain was only a hint on the air at the moment, but Lord Vandeimen said, “Back to the carriages, I think.”

No one protested, though Clarissa wanted to. What would have happened next?

Lady Amleigh said, “I do wish that volcano had kept its head!”

To which her husband responded, “Perhaps it was in love.”

The look in his eye and the lady’s blush said it had special meaning for them. Clarissa wondered what it would be like to have that sort of private connection, that sort of love.

It was beginning to seem a prize worth more than a mere fortune.

A number of people had the same idea of leaving the fair, but then, as the rain held off, some turned back. Suddenly there was a swirling crowd that reminded her of the riot in Cheltenham.

Hawk put his arm around her and held her close. “Don’t worry. There’s limitless space here, so it can’t become a deadly crush.”

All the same, they were jostled a little, and he eased them between two stalls and into more open space.

Clarissa couldn’t help noticing that the other couples had gone in another direction.

Accident, or design?

She glanced at him, not at all nervous. He’d mentioned her going apart with him. She was ready to find out what it involved. She glanced at the darkening sky, praying that the storm would hold off for a while.

Then the wind squalled, almost flinging her skirts up. She fought to hold them down. “I think the storm’s about to hit!” she called, in case his wicked purposes had blinded him to nature.

“I know.” He glanced around, then said, “Come on!” His arm around her, he ran toward a large tent.

The rain hit like a gray sheet just as they made it to safety.

It was a rough stable with lines of tethered horses, many of them moving restively with the storm. They became even more agitated as people rushed and staggered in in various states of wetness.

A couple of grooms tried to stop the invasion, but it was no good. The rain was coming down in torrents, driven hard by the wind, and the ground outside was already a swamp.

They ended up with only about twenty people in the tent, but with everyone squeezing away from the nervous horses, it was a crush. The stink of dung, horse, wet clothing, and unwashed bodies made Clarissa almost wish that she was out in the torrent.

Hawk eased them into a corner, but said, “I apologize.”

“It’s not your fault, but I do wish there was some fresh air.”

Suddenly he had a knife in his hand, a slender knife that, all the same, cut a slit in the canvas wall as if it were muslin. When it was clear that the rain was coming from the other direction, he made the cut into a rectangular flap.

“Do you have a pin?” he asked.

“What lady would be without one?” Clarissa said, shocked by that efficient blade. She had never imagined a gentleman carrying such a thing and had no idea what to do with the information.

She gave him a pin. “You are very resourceful, Hawk. And very well equipped.”

He was pinning up the flap. The knife had somehow disappeared. He looked at her for a moment, then held out his hand. Pushing back his cuff, he slid the dagger out again.

“An interesting fashion accessory,” she said.

“More of a bad habit.”

“I thought soldiers went more normally armed.”

“Wise soldiers go armed in any way that will keep them alive. I’ve been in places where a secret weapon was almost expected, however.” His lips quirked. “Don’t think me a hero. It was generally a matter of dealing with shady merchants, thieves, and even pirates. And there being little difference between the three.”

She smiled, content now that she had fresh air to breathe. They were hardly alone, but the people all around seemed to be country folk or fair workers. No one to care what she and Hawk did or said.

“You have to know that I find that exciting,” she remarked.

Hawk almost had her where he wanted her, where he had to want her, but as usual her disarming frankness was like a shield, turning away all weapons.

He made himself smile teasingly. “Is it? Most ladies find killing knives frightening.”

She tried. She tried very hard. But he saw the flicker of muscles that registered a hit.

“Killing?” she said, in the way of a person who knows they have to say it.

He handled his stiletto, carefully out of the way of nearby people. “A knife like this is not for mending pens, Falcon. Though it does that job very well.” He turned the handle toward her. “Here.”

She stared at it, all guard shattered. “What? I don’t want it!”

“You said it excited you.”

“No, I didn’t!” She was fixed on the knife like a rabbit on the snake that will kill it. He saw her swallow.

It was like a knife in his own gut. A knife he had to push in deeper rather than draw out.

“What did you mean, then?”

She looked up. Tried to step back, but a tent support blocked her from behind. She was pale, her eyes stark, but she managed a kind of lightness. “I meant pirates and such. Romantic things.”

“If you think pirates romantic, I should definitely equip you with a knife, and teach you how to use it.”