Green Fire (11 page)

"The reason I'm inviting you along is so that you can do that part," she answered sweetly. "You're the handyman around here."

"Yes, ma'am. I'd be pleased to row my lady's boat." He tugged at an imaginary cap and smiled ingratiatingly.

Rani groaned. "I don't think you're ever going to be any good at it."

"Deference?"

"Yes, deference. And here I was going to pack a picnic lunch and everything."

"I promise to get real good at exhibiting deference if you promise to pack a picnic lunch. I can't even remember the last time I had a picnic lunch. Ants and all?"

"I was hoping to skip the ants." She smiled down at him, and Flint grinned back.

"It's a deal."

She nodded, pleased. "I called Dewhurst this morning," Rani added on a softer note.

"Dewhurst?"

"The man who originally appraised this ring for me." She held out her hand. "He reassured me that it was definitely fake."

Flint shrugged, looking unconcerned. "It's a little large to be real, I suppose."

"He also said the setting isn't more than a hundred years old, if that. So there goes your theory of this being the ring that belongs in your legend."

"He's wrong about that." Flint went back to work on the brick path. "Ambrose was sure of the setting's history. He might have replaced the real emerald with a fake, but he wouldn't have messed with the setting."

"I don't think Mr. Dewhurst would make that kind of mistake, Flint," Rani stated firmly. "Perhaps this isn't the same ring that was originally in my uncle's collection. Have you thought of that?"

"It's the same one Ambrose showed me a year and a half ago."

"But, Flint, it's just not as old as it would have to be to fit your legend. Why do you have to be so stubborn? Can't you just accept the fact that the whole thing is a fake?"

"No."

Rani exhaled with a groan of disgust. "Stubborn, hard-headed man. Do you come from a long line of mules?"

"I doubt it. Mules are sterile, aren't they? They don't breed."

"Details," she snapped. "I'm speaking in general terms. Why are you so dead set on believing this is the ring that belongs to your legend?"

He stopped work on the path again. "I've done a lot of research on that ring, Rani. I know that at least the setting is for real. Want to hear some of the stories that go with it?"

"I'm not sure," she hedged.

"They're very romantic."

She hesitated and then nodded, "Well, in that case, tell them to me."

I think I'm going to need a beer to help me get through these stories." Flint got to his feet. "Besides, I deserve a break. Want one?"

"A break or a beer?"

"A beer," Flint confirmed dryly, starting toward the cottage. "You're already on a month-long break. Do you do this every winter?"

"Take so much time off? No. I told you I had some unused vacation from last year and I had to take it or lose it. To tell you the truth, I was just thinking this morning that I was getting a little bored. I thought a nice long, relaxing rest in the mountains sounded wonderful, but as it turns out I think I should have opted for something more exciting. Like Club Med."

Flint laughed. Rani realized it was the first time she had heard him truly laugh. It was a full, hearty sound that came from deep in his chest. She decided as she trotted after him that she liked it. He ought to laugh more often.

"What's the matter?" she challenged. "Don't you see me as the Club Med type?"

"I'm not sure what the Club Med type is," he hedged, opening the door of the cottage.

"I'm not sure either, but I know what the image is." Rani waited on the step while he collected the beers from the refrigerator.

"Sexy?" he asked as he came back outside. He popped the top on a cold can and handed it to her. Green eyes moved consideringly over her from head to toe. "You'd qualify on that basis, I think. You're not the centerfold type, but there's something about you that makes a man know you'd feel good in his hands. Something soft and warm and lively."

Rani nearly choked on her beer. "Lively! Lively?"

"Yeah, you know." Flint waved his hand in a vain attempt to collect the right word. "
Lively
. Exciting. Responsive. Enthusiastic. Eager."

"Oh, lord." Ram sat down on one of the folding chairs Flint had set on the lawn in front of the cottage. "Forget lively. Next time I want to know what a man thinks of me I'll hand him a thesaurus first."

"I've already got one," Flint told her. "I looked you up in it last night. That's how I came up with lively."

Rani felt the heat in her face and tried to extinguish it with another swallow of cold beer. It was definitely time to get the conversation back under control. She seemed to spend a great deal of time keeping Flint under control. "About these stories you said you were going to tell me," she prompted firmly.

He shrugged, the smooth muscles of his bare, tanned shoulders moving easily as he took the second chair and stretched out his legs. Sitting there with a beer in his hand, his jeans scruffy and stained and his hair awry, he looked exactly what he said he was: a hardworking man who was taking a temporary break. Rani stared at him from beneath her lashes wondering why her intuition was telling her that Flint Cottrell would never fit neatly into a single category. It would be easier if he did, she thought. She'd like to be able to pigeonhole him so that she could feel more in command of the relationship between them. It wasn't going to be easy. It was hard to categorize and forget a man who had spent his life chasing legends.

"The first story takes place in the seventeen hundreds. That's when the Clayborne ring first appeared. It was given to the eldest daughter of a very wealthy English lord. She was wearing it one evening when her coach was held up by a highwayman."

"How exciting."

"The truth is it was rather dangerous. The lady and her chaperon were terrified. The highwayman was in the process of stealing their valuables when another highwayman appeared. The second man sent the first one packing."

Rani smiled. "And then took milady's jewels himself?"

"Nope. The second highwayman is our hero. He nobly apologized to the lady for the poor manners of some of his brethren on the road and then he stole a kiss."

"Only a kiss?" Rani asked skeptically.

"According to the story. At any rate, the Clayborne lady was exceedingly grateful. She was allowed to proceed on her way. But the next evening she met the highwayman who had rescued her. She recognized him at once, even though he was introduced as Lord Creighton, a new neighbor."

"How did she know who he was? Hadn't he worn a mask that night?"

"She just knew, although she kept the secret to herself." Flint shrugged. "The thing was, she was furious at the deception. She had been dreaming of a romantic highwayman only to discover he was just a staid neighbor who had inherited the next-door estate. Creighton realized he was in trouble and tried desperately to redeem himself. After having kissed the lady, he was well and truly under the spell of her ring, according to the tale. He would do anything for her. He was the perfect gentleman until he realized it wasn't going to get him anywhere. Then he took desperate measures. He dressed up in his highwayman's costume again one dark night and waylaid the lady's coach. This time he took more than a kiss. He took the lady herself and kept her overnight on his estate. The next morning, of course, she had no choice but to marry him. Her family insisted."

"Compromised," Rani said sadly.

"Things were simpler in those days."

"I suppose the punch line is that they eventually lived quite happily together?"

"How did you guess?" Flint tilted the beer can for another swallow. "Milady fell passionately in love with her fake highwayman."

"What was he doing playing at being a highwayman in the first place?"

Flint grinned. "That part of the story isn't clear. From what I can learn it appears there's every likelihood Lord Creighton was a real highwayman, but that he gave up the dangerous game as soon as he realized he was in love."

"Let's hear another story."

"The next one is about Robert and Sara, and it's the best documented."

"When did they live?" Rani asked curiously.

"Early eighteen hundreds. During the Regency period in England. Sara was the daughter of an aristocratic family.

She received the ring on her eighteenth birthday. According to the story, she was a very beautiful, very well-bred young lady. Her family not only had money but a title."

"Ah-hah. Making her a prize on the marriage market."

Flint's mouth curved upward briefly. "A very valuable prize. She made quite a splash when she was introduced to society, and the offers for her hand came pouring in during the course of her eighteenth year. From all accounts, Sara enjoyed her status and the situation thoroughly."

"Good for her," Rani cheered.

"She was spoiled."

"So what?" Rani sipped her beer.

"She had a fiery temper. She was quite capable of cutting a man dead at a ball if he annoyed her. She was proud and probably quite vain and much too independent to her family's way of thinking."

Rani raised her beer in salute to the distant Sara. "Atta-girl, Sara."

Flint eyed her speculatively. "Why do I get the feeling you're already taking sides in this story?"

"Because I am."

"Yeah, well, Sara met her match when she was introduced to Robert."

"Who was Robert?"

"A brash young sea captain from Boston. He was in England to settle the estate of a distant relative. While he was there he met Sara and immediately fell for her. Sara apparently found him quite a novelty. An amusing change from the soft, pampered males she was accustomed to seeing in society. She turned on the charm, and presumably the ring, and Robert was soon dancing at the end of her string. Apparently she got a kick out of shocking her parents and friends by being seen with him at some of the best social functions."

"A lady has to take her pleasures where she can," Rani said commiseratingly.

Flint frowned. "Sara found Robert amusing and useful for causing all sorts of interesting commotion, but she was very much aware of her status. She had no intention of going too far and finding herself compromised."

"There's that word again. Compromised," Rani repeated thoughtfully. "An outmoded word. No longer applicable in today's society."

"Well, it was still applicable back then. Sara knew perfectly well she might have been obliged to marry Robert if she went too far in her fun and games. So she kept things under control."

"With the aid of the ring?"

Flint exhaled slowly. "So the story goes. Who knows? At any rate, Sara kept Robert dancing at a discreet distance, close enough to tantalize him, but not so close that she would find herself in an untenable situation."

'' Robert tolerated this treatment?''

"Until Livermore appeared on the scene."

Rani smiled. "Who's Livermore?"

"A gentleman with a title as good as the one held by Sara's family. He decided Sara would make the perfect bride. Her family was ready to marry off Sara, and Lord Livermore looked like a viable candidate as a husband for their daughter. The perfect match."