Vixen (38 page)

“How old is your brother?” Chloe demanded, not a whit struck by any possibly indecorous slant to the conversation.

“Eleven,” Denis said with a disarming grin. “And he’s almost exactly your size.”

Chloe laughed and lightly brushed his hand with her own. In swift response he took her hand and raised it to
his lips, saying daringly, “I can’t wait to see you in such a costume, Chloe.”

“That,” Chloe declared with mock disapproval, “is a most improper thing to say, Denis.”

“But then, you are proposing a most improper excursion,” he said solemnly.

“It was
your
proposal, may I remind you,” she bantered.

“But I didn’t notice any hesitation on your part.” His eyes laughed at her and her own responded. He still held her hand and she made no move to take it away.

Denis DeLacy seemed to have taken the honors for the evening yet again, her other two suitors reflected disconsolately, each of them wishing such a daring proposal had occurred to them.

Hugo wondered if he was imagining an air of suppressed excitement in his ward when he escorted her home. She seemed preoccupied and responded to his various attempts at conversation distractedly, but the sparkle in her eyes had a distinctly mischievous glimmer to it.

He decided to postpone questions until later, when she came to him in the privacy of his bed. However, as soon as they reached home, she said she had to look in on Peg and the baby and flew upstairs with a cheerful good night.

Frowning, he went to the kitchen for his customary nighttime conversation with Samuel.

“How’s Peg?”

“Wants nuthin’ to do with the babe,” Samuel said, pouring tea. “Doesn’t seem t’ know what to do wi’ it. Didn’t even want to put it to the breast … and the poor mite wailin’ fit to burst.”

“Seems quiet enough now.” Hugo sipped tea.

“Mrs. ’Erridge wasn’t standin’ for no nonsense.” Samuel
stretched his legs to the fire’s blaze. “An Peg’s too weak to fight ’er at the moment.”

“I expect Chloe will sort it out,” Hugo said with conviction, and soon after took himself to bed, where he waited in vain for the usual visitation.

He fell asleep eventually, trying to persuade himself that he should be pleased that his efforts to lessen the intensity of their liaison seemed to be having the desired result. But he felt bereft nevertheless and wondered how long it would be before the sense of loss diminished.

Chloe huddled alone in her bed, taking what comfort she could from Dante’s weight on her feet. She wondered miserably if Hugo had even noticed that she hadn’t come to him. He was probably dreaming sweetly of making love to Miss Anselm … or Judith Devlin.

But if her plan for tomorrow night worked out as planned, she’d be the only person on his mind, and present denial would surely make the reunion all the more glorious.

Denis himself delivered the promised parcel of clothes the next morning. Chloe, who had discovered somewhat to her chagrin that Peg responded better to Mrs. Herridge’s brusque instructions over care of the baby than she did to Chloe’s gentler, more understanding approach, greeted him eagerly and with even more warmth than usual.

“Did you bring them?”

“Yes. Would you like to see?” He handed her the parcel.

“I’d better not open it here,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to the open library door. “Samuel has a way of popping up when least expected.” She chuckled. “Of course we’d hear Lady Smallwood a mile away. But that’s unkind of me. May I offer you a glass of sherry?”

“Thank you. Where’s Sir Hugo?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. Hugo had already left the house when she’d come down to breakfast and Samuel had said only that he’d had some commissions to execute.

Denis sipped his wine and contemplated his next move. Was it too soon to make any overt declaration?

“The ribbons of your gown are exactly the color of your eyes,” he said, smiling. “How clever of you to choose them.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” Chloe responded with a small moue of annoyance. “Sir Hugo and Lady Smallwood make all the decisions about my wardrobe. I consider it thoroughly interfering of them. However …”

Her eyes danced. “Neither of them would choose what’s in the parcel, which will make it all the more amusing to dress in such fashion. It was a brilliant idea, Denis.”

He bowed modestly. “I own I can’t wait to see you in britches, Chloe.”

Chloe felt suddenly uncomfortable. He’d said something similar last night, but it had sounded different then, more jesting. The tone and the words this morning felt like the kind of thing she could imagine a man saying to a lightskirt … a bit of muslin, she thought they were called. And there was something faintly predatory about his eyes that made her uneasy.

Denis recognized his mistake immediately. It was appropriate to crypt games, and Jasper had warned him that he must be subtle. The time for unsubtlety would come soon enough, when he’d receive his reward. “Forgive me,” he said, extending his hand. “What a shockingly improper thing to say, Chloe … but I do find you most … well … I don’t know how to say it. But you’re not like other girls … you’re so much easier to talk to.”

“Let’s talk of something else,” she said, accepting his hand and the apology with relief.

He was regaling her with a wicked on-dit that amused her mightily, when Hugo entered the library. He was in riding dress, his top boots dusty, and a wash of unfocused irritation flooded him as he saw who was causing Chloe’s laughter to fill the library.

“Oh, Hugo, Denis has been telling me the most scandalous story about Margery Featherstone,” she said, turning her laughing countenance toward him, for a moment forgetting their estrangement. “Apparently, she—”

“I believe I’ve heard it,” Hugo broke in, going to the sideboards “DeLacy, may I refill your glass?” He offered the decanter.

There was a coolness to his voice that while far from impolite was also far from encouraging. The younger man declined the offer and took his leave within a few minutes. Chloe gave him her hand again, a gesture not lost on Hugo any more than he missed the impishly conspiratorial glance she accorded her guest as she bade him farewell.

The little fox was up to her tricks again, he thought uneasily. Why the hell did she have to play them with Brian DeLacy’s son?

“What are you up to, lass?” he demanded without preamble.

“Nothing,” Chloe denied, careful to avoid looking toward the parcel of clothes in the corner of the sofa. “Why were you so unfriendly to Denis?”

“Was I?” He shrugged. “I didn’t intend to be. But neither do I consider it right for you to be entertaining a young man alone.”

“Oh, stuff! The door was open,” she said. “There was nothing improper about it. We were in full view of anyone crossing the hall. Anyway,” she added with a hint of truculence, “how am I to find a husband if I never have
the chance to engage in private conversation with likely prospects?”

Hugo hid his dismay. Was Chloe that drawn to young DeLacy? “Far be it from me to impede such a worthy aim, lass,” he said amiably. “I hadn’t realized your partiality for DeLacy was quite that serious.”

“I find him more intelligent than most,” she declared.

“Ah, but will he be sufficiently complaisant?” Hugo inquired, perching on the corner of the big desk, swinging one booted foot as he examined his ward with an amused eye that disguised his uneasy speculations.

“He’ll have to be,” Chloe said smartly. “Since I have no intention of marrying anyone who won’t permit me to have control over my fortune.”

“Then I suspect, my dear girl, that you’ll have to settle for a stupid husband,” Hugo said. “Because I don’t see an intelligent man willingly accepting the role of hagridden husband.”

“But I would not hag-ride … or whatever the word is,” Chloe protested indignantly. “That’s most unjust, Hugo. When have I ever hag-ridden you?”

“Never … and don’t expect to,” he said, and changed the subject. “How’s the mother?”

“Mrs. Herridge manages her better than I do,” Chloe said. “I don’t seem to speak the right language.”

“That’s hardly surprising,” he said gently.

“No, I suppose not.” She shrugged. “So long as someone can persuade her to feed the babe, then it doesn’t matter.”

Casually, she wandered over to the sofa and sat down in the corner, hiding the parcel as she wondered how to remove it from the library under Hugo’s eye? She couldn’t leave it there alone with him either, he would be bound to notice it.

“I think I’ll stay at home tonight,” she said, pleating
the lace of her sleeve. “Lady Smallwood will be glad of the company.”

“I’m sure she will,” he agreed,
smiling.
“Making amends, lass?”

It was as good an excuse as any. She raised her eyes and returned his smile slightly consciously. “I thought perhaps I should.”

“I applaud the self-sacrifice,” he said. “Would you like me to make a third?”

“No.” Chloe shook her head. “I am determined to do penance and will play backgammon all evening. Besides, Mrs. Herridge needs some time to herself and I can hold the fort for the evening. You’re very dusty … shouldn’t you change your boots before nuncheon?”

“Should I?” Hugo regarded his boots with a quizzical frown. “I’ve not come across a household where riding clothes were forbidden at any table but the dinner table. Do I offend you, my ward?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “But judging from the rather pungent odor in the room, I suspect you have more than dust on your boots.”

“I don’t smell anything. However …”He left his perch on the desk. “I’d hate to offend that pretty little nose.” He pinched it lightly as he passed … a carelessly affectionate guardian’s gesture with no hint of a lover’s fierce desire.

T
HE CLOTHES DID NOT
make her look like a boy, Chloe decided, examining herself in the mirror late that night. Nankeen trousers buttoned onto a white lawn shirt with a frilled collar. A short fitted jacket with a double row of buttons marching from the shoulder to the waist went over the shirt. Denis had even provided white stockings and a pair of flat black shoes. The shoes needed to be stuffed with paper in the toes, but apart from that everything fitted very well … or at least, it seemed to. But something wasn’t quite as it should be.

She frowned, turning this way and that in front of the mirror in the quiet house. Dante lay watching her through one eye while Falstaff cackled softly on his perch. The fitted jacket seemed to accentuate the swell of her breasts rather than disguise them, and her hips and backside in the trousers were much more noticeable than in skirts.

In fact, she decided, the whole effect was grossly improper. Lady Smallwood would probably fall into a dead faint from which she’d never recover, and Hugo … well, she’d discover Hugo’s reaction soon enough. She crammed the black velvet cap on her head, pulling the brim down over her forehead. It didn’t seem to make much difference to the overall impression.

The clock on the mantelpiece struck two, and she went to the door, opening it quietly. Dante whined but was now accustomed to being left behind for long periods of the night and merely sighed and curled up into a tight ball when she slipped out into the dark corridor.

Hugo was still out and Samuel would be waiting up for him in the kitchen as usual. So long as Hugo didn’t return in the next five minutes, the plan would work. She sped down the stairs, across the hall, and pushed through the swing door into the kitchen.

“Samuel, I’m going out with some friends,” she said cheerfully. “Tell Hugo not to Worry.”

“Wh-wh-what the ’ell … ?” Samuel woke from his doze with a start arid blinked at the apparition half in and half out of the doorway. “What’s that you say?”

“I’m going out,” she said. “Tell Hugo I’ll be back in a couple of hours. If you don’t lock the front door, I won’t wake anyone.”

Before Samuel could get the blood moving sufficiently to bring him to his feet, she had gone. It took a minute for that unbelievable image to reform in his mind’s eye, and when it did, he swore vigorously and ran out of the kitchen. The front door was closed but not locked. He hauled it open and was in time to see Chloe, in her outrageous costume, climbing into a hackney carriage with the help of a young man.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Samuel muttered, closing the door again. The fat was going to be in the fire over this one. He returned to the kitchen, scratching his head, in no doubt that Chloe had her reasons for this madcap flight.

He put the kettle on the range and was making tea when he heard Hugo’s step in the hall. “Still awake, Samuel?” Hugo came in. “There’s no need to wait up for me, you know.”

“I know, but I choose to,” Samuel said. “But I’ll leave you to wait up for the lass.” He put a mug on the table. “There’s your tea.”

“Wait up for her?” Hugo inquired, alarm bells ringing in his head.

“She’s up and gone out,” Samuel said, returning to his
seat by the fire. “About ’alf an hour ago, cool as you please she comes in ’ere an’ says, ‘Samuel, I’m goin’ out. Tell ’Ugo I’ll be back in a couple of hours … don’t lock the door,’ she says, so she won’t wake anyone.”