Between the Devil and Ian Eversea (15 page)

That peculiar impulse toward protection rushed at him again. Fierce and quite irrational.

He understood then that she was only truly awkward around
him
.

No. He would keep her secrets. Though he could not say quite why.

Landsdowne sighed. “It was merely a friendly gift, Eversea. I meant nothing by it, truly, other than hoping to make her feel more welcome in Pennyroyal Green. But . . .” He leaned back in his chair. “. . . can you imagine what your life would be like, Eversea, if you awoke to her every morning? To eyes full of admiration instead of challenge? To simplicity and charm and innocence and that restful beauty?”

Ian nearly choked. This, however, was too much. Simplicity?
Restful?

It was a moment before he could speak.

“If you intend to divert your attentions from Olivia in order to court Miss Danforth, you may find yourself part of a stampede,” was all he said. Very carefully.

Landsdowne smiled a little. “I’m aware.” He sounded entirely unaffected. After all, he was the man who had found a way into Olivia Eversea’s seemingly impenetrable good graces and turned the ton’s betting world on its ear. “And
you
don’t intend to join the throng?”

Ian gave a short humorless laugh. “Ah, no. I’ll be sailing soon for a half-dozen exotic ports of call. I can think of very few women who’ll consent to be dragged along on a journey like that.”

“Well, then. What would you do if I did tell you I intend to abandon my suit? To throw over Olivia for Miss Danforth? Will you call me out? What would that accomplish?”

“It would accomplish,” Ian said thoughtfully, “the setting of an example. For if I shot you, odds are very good no one would throw over Olivia again.”

Landsdowne grinned swiftly at that. “You’re likely right.”

A brief little silence felled, during which Ian silently compelled Landsdowne to explain himself. He certainly wasn’t obliged to do it, but he was a man of honor.

“Here is the thing.” Landsdowne sighed. And then his mouth quirked humorlessly. “I don’t know if Olivia will ever love me. And yet . . . the more time I spend with her the more I can’t do without her.”

Lyon Redmond was indeed fortunate he’d disappeared, Ian thought. Because he would have strangled him on the spot had he reappeared just now. He’d left so much unhappiness in his wake, and the unhappiness rippled out to include people like Landsdowne, who didn’t deserve it.

“And yet . . . I often think I would be happy to settle for simply her . . . esteem. To live with only that for the rest of my born days. For her. Olivia Eversea’s mere esteem is worth more than the love and devotion of a dozen women. I cannot currently imagine a day without her. And it isn’t my intention—I give you my word of honor—to pursue Miss Danforth. Does that answer your concerns with regards to your sister?”

He said it flatly.

It was as raw a declaration of love as Ian could imagine, and he felt a brief twinge of shame for cornering Landsdowne into it. He nearly pitied the man. He knew a brief surge of anger for his stubborn, prideful sister. He was a good man, a worthy man, and he deserved better than esteem. Olivia’s pride had surely caused at least some of her own unhappiness.

But Ian’s loyalty was to his sister.

He nodded shortly. “Thank you, Landsdowne, for telling me. Rest assured you have my utter discretion. And my apologies if I seemed intrusive. But I imagine you understand.”

“I do. I, too, have sisters.”

“I hear Miss Danforth is all but promised to de Neauville’s heir, anyway.”

It was a lie.

Because he’d just decided right then to write to the Duke de Neauville’s heir to tell him about Miss Danforth. He was young, a good shooter, handled the ribbons well even if he drove a bit recklessly, wanted the best of everything, was an otherwise inoffensively uninteresting young man, and the de Neauvilles owned property in Sussex. Surely if anything could turn Miss Danforth’s head and
keep
it turned, it was a handsome, fledgling about-to-be-a-duke. And that was the sort of marriage she was destined for, anyway, wasn’t it? He would be doing everyone a good turn in writing to the duke’s son.

“Far be it for me to intrude upon another man’s territory,” Landsdowne said wryly.

Which was when Ian noticed his ale still hadn’t arrived.

And it looked as though ales hadn’t arrived at many of the tables. Woebegone faces were craning toward the bar, gesturing with empty tankards. Murmurs were beginning.

Ned rushed over to him.

“Captain Eversea, I’m worried now. Polly would never leave for this long without asking or without telling me where she’s gone. I’m afraid something’s amiss.”

“Do you want me to help you look for her? Do you have someone to mind the pub?”

“I’ve been meaning to hire someone for some time, but things are so busy I just haven’t yet gotten round to it. Jemmy can do it in a pinch, but he’s a bit slow. We’ll have a riot on our hands if we’re gone long.”

Perhaps an exaggeration, but not by much. They looked around at the yearning faces of the men in the pub, all very unused to being denied Ned’s light or dark when they wanted it.

“We best hurry, then. Far be it for me to cause a riot.”

Chapter 15

I
T HAD BEEN DAYS
before she was able ride out on her own again, but Tansy had seized the opportunity the minute the duke and Genevieve departed to inspect another property available for purchase, a good two hours carriage drive away. A little too far for Genevieve’s preference, and just far enough from the Everseas, as far as the duke was concerned, and this was a source of more or less good-natured bickering.

Tansy had charmed the groom—who surely knew better, but had just as much trouble refusing her anything she wanted as nearly every other man in Pennyroyal Green—into saddling her mare and allowing her to ride off alone again, since it was to be such a very short ride on such a beautiful day.

She wanted to take a look at her handiwork.

She was parallel to the stream when she pulled her horse to a halt.

Someone was staggering toward her—a woman, she saw, when the wind whipped out a long dark skirt—who then dropped again to her knees with a squeak.

Tansy’s heart lurched.

“Polly!”

She trotted over, scrambled almost gracelessly down from her horse, dashed over and knelt next to her, placing a hand on her arm.

“What’s happened? Are you hurt?”

Polly seemed a bit embarrassed.

“Oh, I’m sound enough, except me ankle . . . oh, blast, but I’ve twisted it, Miss Danforth, in a blessed vole hole, I believe. I can’t seem to get far. And oh, my dress! I’ve dirtied it! My papa is going to
kill
me.”

Tansy understood full well the distress of dirtying a dress and worrying a father.

“If only I could find a stick to help with the walking . . .” Polly fussed. She furrowed her brow and looked toward the Pig & Thistle, as if she could will herself back into the pub.

“A stick! What nonsense. You’ll wait here and I’ll fetch help if we need it. But first, may I have a look? Here, let us take off your shoe, just . . . so.”

Polly extended her leg without question, and Tansy carefully unlaced the worn, serviceable walking boot and handed it to Polly to hold.

“Oh, it’s swollen! You poor thing. Now, if only we had something to wrap it . . . you see, I’ve done this before! My brother and I used to play together, and I would run after him. I never could catch up. He was older and his legs were longer and I tripped in holes in the pasture.”

Polly laughed at that. “I always wished I had a brother.”

“Mine was both wonderful and a great trial to me. He died late in the War of 1812.”

“I’m so sorry, Miss Danforth. The men do love to go and be soldiers, and leave us at home missing them and worrying.”

“Please do call me Tansy.”

She wondered which Eversea in particular Polly had missed and worried over.

“Tansy. Thank you, Tansy. Papa will be so worried. I’m all he has, you know, and I only have the few memories of Mama. And I canna serve at the Pig & Thistle with a limp. How could I be so
foolish
?”

“Oh, we’re all foolish at one time or another. We’ll worry about that later. Let me see if this will help . . .”

Tansy fished out a handkerchief and was able to wrap it around Polly’s slim ankle twice and tie it neatly. She bounded to her feet and hauled Polly gently upward.

Polly tried to put a little weight on it, leaning heavily on Tansy. She brightened. “Oh! It’s a bit better.” She tried another step and yelped. “Bloody
aitch,
Tansy! I’m afraid I can’t do it all the way back to the Pig & Thistle like this. Oh, my papa will be so upset with me!”

“Well, he will be at first, but if I know papas, he’ll be happier to see you alive than he will be angry that you hurt yourself. Here, lean on me and we’ll settle you back down again. I’ll go and fetch help straightaway.”

Tansy managed to get herself into the saddle, which was a bit of a struggle, and she was afraid she’d showed Polly her stockings and part of her chemise in the process. Then she kicked her horse into a decidedly unladylike gallop and tore across the downs in the direction of town.

She was shamelessly enjoying the excuse to ride at breakneck speed when she saw two men riding toward her across the green.

She pulled her mare to a halt and stared. Then threw a glance over her shoulder at the woods. She really was quite in the middle of things and didn’t see any refuge.

Ah. She wondered if this was the sort of thing she ought to have considered before she rode out alone.

She wasn’t armed, more’s the pity, for goodness knows she could have shot either of them from horseback where she sat.

If they wanted to abduct her and sell her into slavery on a pirate ship, she would put up a struggle, but there really was no doubt about who would eventually win.

She watched, and said a little prayer, and a moment later . . . something about one of the men . . .

. . . something simply about the way he occupied space . . .

She knew it was Ian Eversea.

Her relief seesawed with alarm for a moment before nerves settled in to stay.

Nerves and guilt.

And her heart, of course, took up that disorienting jig it normally did in his presence. Even when he was still at a distance.

He sat a horse so beautifully, her breath snagged in her throat. She decided to try to take pleasure in that before the berating began.

She saw the moment he recognized her, because he drew to an abrupt halt, too.

He kneed his horse into a canter and was beside her in seconds.

“Miss Danforth,” he drawled, sweeping his hat from his head. “
Imagine
seeing you where you shouldn’t be. And alone, too, which you also shouldn’t be. Or are you?”

“And good day to you, Captain Eversea. I was riding into town to fetch Mr. Hawthorne. Polly Hawthorne was . . . out for a walk . . . and has twisted her ankle and she can’t put her weight on it. I discovered her.”

He transformed before her eyes. His face went brilliant with relief and joy. “
You
found Polly? Where is she?” He turned to shout over his shoulder. “Ned! We’ve found Polly!” He turned back to Tansy. “Is she otherwise sound?”

He sounded so worried, she found herself soothing him. “She’s fine. She’s turned her ankle and can’t put her weight on it but she’s otherwise well and cheerful enough. And worried about her father worrying about her.”

“Ned! Polly turned her ankle but she’s sound otherwise.”

Ned’s head dropped to his chest in relief and he kicked his horse into a trot.

“Where is she?”

“Follow me,” Tansy said. Enjoying the opportunity to order him about.

“Miss Dan—”

She tugged her horse around and kicked it into a gallop again.

Catch me if you can, Captain Eversea.

P
OLLY’S LITTLE ELFIN
face lit when they galloped into view.

Ned all but threw himself down from his horse and ran to her, then turned to Ian, wordlessly, who was next to them in a moment. Tansy watched as Ian scooped Polly up as if she were weightless. Together he and Ned gently situated her in the saddle of Ned’s horse.

And if I were Polly, Tansy thought, I would never forget the feel of his arms around me, and how it felt to be lifted gently, as though I were precious. Almost worth turning an ankle over.

With a tip of his hat to Ian and Tansy and a heartfelt, “My thanks,” to both of them, Ned Hawthorne urged his horse forward again. From the sound of things, Ned was clearly fussing and berating, and Polly protesting and placating.

She smiled. Lucky Polly, to be so missed.

She turned toward Ian.

He was smiling, too, at the two of them as they retreated.

Tansy’s heart squeezed. It was a beautiful smile. Warm, wholly satisfied and relieved, utterly unguarded. It made him look very young.

That’s
what he looks like when he cares about people, she thought, wistfully.

That smile faded when it turned her way, alas.

“How did you happen to find her, Miss Danforth?”

He could have at
least
congratulated her. Or thanked her.

She hesitated.

“I’ve seen her near . . . here. Whilst I was riding. It’s a lovely spot, isn’t it? Very quiet by this stream.”

“What were
you
doing here by
yourself
? Burying bodies? Meeting a lover?”

She pressed her lips firmly closed.

And when he refused to blink, she sighed.

“Nothing remotely as interesting. Would you please, please, please stop being so bloody curious and overprotective? I said please.
Three
times.”

He studied her a moment, clearly fighting a smile.

“No need to curse,” he said mildly. “Are you going to stamp your foot? You’ve that look about you.”

“Are you giving me permission to do it?”

He did grin again, and the grin evolved into a laugh. He had a beautiful smile, even more beautiful when he aimed it at her.

A little silence followed, and he swiped a hand over his hair, almost self-consciously.

“You ride very well,” he volunteered. “Then again, why wouldn’t you? Every ‘wallflower’ rides like a hellion.”

“Of course I ride well. This soft little country is nothing compared to rugged American terrain. I frequently rode by myself. And I have to dodge Indians and bears and the like when I do it.”

Judging from the look on his face, he was thoroughly enjoying this bald-faced lie.

“Miss Danforth, I’m not ignorant of geography, you know. I’m familiar with your part of New York.”

Oh.

“But doubtless you need to gallop hard to elude your suitors and incensed women,” he added.

“I leave all of them in the dust,” she said gravely, her hand over her heart.

And he laughed again, sounding delighted, and the laugh evolved into a happy sigh, as if she were part of something amusing being performed on Drury Lane.

Could it be that they were actually
enjoying
each other?

If she thought about it too much she would likely revert to gawking and stammering.

There was a silence that threatened to become awkward.

“Is that where you learned to shoot?” he asked. “Like a bloody marksman?”

“My father and brother taught me. I rather took to it. I don’t very much like to shoot animals, however.”

“But you have no compunctions over murdering apples.”

She laughed. “That apple deserved to die. I know how to
load
a musket, too, you know. I should one day like to shoot a rifle.”

“I have an excellent rifle,” he said. “A Baker. Shot it during the war.”

He stopped short of volunteering to allow her to shoot it, she noticed. And it seemed like those silent words filled the little pause that followed.

“From when you were in the army,” she prompted.

“Yes.”

He didn’t expound. She imagined he’d shot a good deal when he was in the army, and seen a good deal, and suddenly she didn’t want to remind him.

“You don’t really like Richard the Third, do you?”

He looked startled. “I don’t dislike him. I would have to say I have no powerful feelings about Richard the Third. Have . . .
you
?” He said it with great trepidation.

“No. I like stories of people surviving things. I’m rather fond of Robinson Crusoe.”

He looked a bit taken aback by that. “Robinson Crusoe is a marvelous story,” he said on a hush. “
Quite
tolerable for a novel.”

“Isn’t it?” she said eagerly. “I’ve also quite enjoyed the books by Miles Redmond about his South Seas Travels.”

Amazement flickered across his face. “Mr. Miles Redmond’s stories have inspired me to take an ocean voyage around the world.”

“You might be eaten by a cannibal,” she warned.

“They’d have to catch me,” he said soberly. “And I’m an excellent shot. Not as good as
you
, of course. Apple killer.”

They regarded each other in another peculiar little silence. Somewhat alarmed by their accord. And by the fact that they appeared to be very much enjoying a conversation.

With each
other
.

She suddenly wondered if Ian Eversea—who allegedly was so expert and blasé about women—felt a trifle awkward around
her
.

His horse snorted encouragingly into the silence. Growing a little restive.

And yet he didn’t suggest they leave yet.

“Do you miss your home in America, Miss Danforth?”

The question sounded almost tentative coming from him. As if he thought it were a delicate question, or was afraid it would result in a torrent of unwanted information. Men could be so amusing.

Then again, he could actually be trying to know her.

“Yes,” she said, mimicking his taciturn answer of a moment ago.

The corner of his mouth lifted, appreciating this.

“Genevieve said you used to live at Lilymont.”

She inhaled sharply in surprise. It was a bit like hearing the name of a loved one out of the blue.

She turned away, reflexively; she didn’t quite realize it, but she’d aimed her body in the general direction of Lilymont. “I did.”