Leslie Lafoy (6 page)

“Your mouth ever get tired of puttin’ all those words together so fancy like?”

“No.” How very odd. Fiona was clearly made uncomfortable by all the attention focused on her and yet she didn’t reach out to either her aunt or her uncle for reassurance. It was almost as if she were trying to become invisible instead.

“He’s a looker, ain’t he?”

Caroline blinked and brought her gaze back inside the carriage. Simone was grinning from ear to ear. “He’s passably handsome,” Caroline allowed. “His snobbery and high-handedness rather offset it, though.”

“He married?”

“I have absolutely no idea. He hasn’t mentioned a wife and I haven’t thought to ask.”

“Maybe he’s thinkin’ of marryin’ you.”

Caroline rolled her eyes and then turned back to the scene in the side yard, saying, “I very seriously doubt that.”

“He likes lookin’ at you. Or ain’t you caught him doin’ it?”

He liked looking at her? Ha! He made a point of not doing so. And if Simone thought otherwise, the child needed eyeglasses. “He’s a duke, Simone,” she pointed out, addressing the larger issue. “If he isn’t married already, then he can have his pick of all the ladies in the land. There is no reason whatsoever for him to choose a bastard modiste over a proper lady with a substantial dowry and titles of her own.”

Simone laughed—a deep, throaty, completely unaffected sound that really should have come out of someone considerably older than she was. It suggested a wisdom about men and relationships that Caroline knew she didn’t possess herself. Not in sufficient depth to be of real value, anyway. That Simone seemed to be so sure of what she saw, what she knew . . . It was, to say the least, disconcerting.

Yes, Drayton Mackenzie, Duke of Ryland, was a handsome man. Terribly handsome, actually. And yes, he could be very irritating when he put his mind to it. But when he didn’t—like now, as he squatted to speak to Fiona on her level . . . Sliding into his bed wouldn’t be the most horrible thing that could ever happen to a woman.

Caroline closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. No, Simone came from a world in which relationships between men and women were nothing more than fleeting physical transactions, where they weren’t complicated by titles and dowries and a thousand years of social rules and expectations. That simple world wasn’t the one she and her sister found themselves in now. Not the public one, anyway; the one that mattered as far as they were concerned.

Simone had so very much to learn. They both did. Keeping her head squarely on her shoulders and the realities firmly in sight would make that task ever so much easier to do. And the most fundamental reality of all was that Drayton Mackenzie was her guardian and that was all he was ever going to be.

“
HELLO, FIONA
,”
HE SAID SOFTLY, ACUTELY AWARE OF
how quickly the child’s chest was rising and falling. “I’m
Drayton. Your father sent me to find you, to bring you to my house to live.”

She didn’t move, didn’t make a sound.

“Your sisters are in that carriage over there. They’ll be coming to my house with you.”

“Like we said before, you might as well be talking to a rock, your lordship,” Fiona’s uncle said. “You can save the breath.”

Drayton slowly rose to his full height and reached into his coat pocket. “I appreciate that you were willing to bring her to me here,” he said, removing the leather bag of coins and adding, “Please allow me to pay you something not only for your time and trouble today, but for the child’s keep over the years.”

“That’s real nice of you, but we can’t accept—”

His wife countered the assertion by snatching the bag from Drayton’s hand and saying, “Money makes it legal, Henry. She’s his now, proper and forever. Give him the lead and let’s be on our way while we still have some light.” She turned away and barked at the boys, “Get in the cart! Now!”

With a shrug, Henry held out the end of the frayed rope. Drayton considered the little girl on the other end of it and all that her aunt and uncle had told him about her. He couldn’t be sure how much was truth and how much was the product of their obvious resentment and frustration, but he was absolutely certain that he didn’t want to take that rope and continue her humiliation.

“I’m sure you have other uses for the tether,” he said. He held out his hand to Fiona, saying, “Shall we go meet your sisters? And then get something to eat?”

Her head slowly came up and from between the strands
of greasy blond hair, a pair of breathtaking green eyes warily considered him.

“You may have whatever you want to eat,” he cajoled, his hand still out for her to take. “Whenever you want.”

“We’ll go with you, mister.”

Fiona’s gaze snapped to the ground at the sound of the young male voice. Drayton kept his hand out and his gaze fixed on her while silently cursing Geoffrey Turn-bridge for all the hells he’d created. “Please, Fiona,” he whispered. “Come with me and get something to eat.”

“Take us, mister,” said another of the boys, this one practically bellowing in his ear. “We’d be glad to eat.”

All right, enough; if the parents had been willing to control their children this might have gone more to his liking, but since they weren’t inclined to discipline and the unruly mob was pressing closer, the time had come to just be done with it. He’d win over Fiona when there was the peace and quiet the task required. Drayton let his hand fall back to his side with a resigned sigh. With the other hand, he reached out to accept the end of the rope. His fingers had barely touched it when one of the boys, the biggest of the bunch, stepped between him and Fiona, planted his hands on her shoulders and pushed, saying, “Talk, stupid!”

Fiona stumbled back from the assault, pulling the rope out of Drayton’s loose control. In the fraction of time it took for her bottom to land in the yard, total chaos erupted.

“Hey, stop that!”

Simone?
Drayton didn’t spare a backward glance to be sure. Fiona was scrambling to her feet, her head whipping from side to side in an obvious frantic effort to decide where she was going to run. He darted forward, desperate
to catch her—just as one of the other boys went to kick her, missed, and planted his foot in his mother’s shin. The woman howled, the boy howled, and they both stumbled into Drayton’s path. The bullying boy wasn’t impeded, though, and he managed to snatch a handful of grimy dress and blond hair. Fiona gasped and froze.

“You little son of a bitch!”

Yes, Simone.
And damn if she wasn’t impressive. She took Bully Boy from his blind spot, flying through the air to plant her shoulder hard into his ribs and take him cleanly off his feet. Fiona was gone before they hit the ground—a flash of gray and dirty yellow and blackened soles headed toward the rear of the inn.

He’d barely had time to blink in realization when a brown blur passed him, headed after her. Caroline, he realized in a strangely calm sort of way. Well, that answered the corset question. No tightly laced woman could run like that. Nice ankles. And calves, too.

A painful yelp brought his attention back to the moment. And at that moment, Simone was giving the boy the pasting of his life. A beautiful right jab to the midsection. Followed immediately by a solid left uppercut to the jaw. The boy went off his feet again and Simone went down after him, doing a wonderful job of pummeling his head and shoulders as he tried—futilely—to shield himself from her vengeance. Since his parents were too busy getting the dogs and other boys into the cart to save him, Drayton felt compelled to intervene.

“Enough,” he said as he slipped his arm around Simone’s waist and hauled her off the hapless lad. She kicked and struggled to get out of the hold, but the boy was quick to seize the reprieve. He scrambled for the rear
of the departing cart, launching himself into the grasping hands of his brothers and mother.

Simone yelled after him, threatening his anatomy and promising to wreak havoc on the entire family if they ever came within her reach again. Drayton didn’t want to grin, he really didn’t. It was a horrible situation. The daughter of a duke being involved in fisticuffs in full view of any one of the inn’s guests or staff who happened to have been looking out a window . . .

But, God, what a show they’d have seen if they had. Simone had a sense of righteousness every father would be proud to see in a son. And incredible fighting skills to back it up. Chuckling quietly, he set her on her feet. It took supreme effort to keep himself from saying, “Well done,” but he managed.

“Son of a bitch. Pickin’ on her like that.”

He nodded, pleased all over again. “Speaking of Fiona,” he said, straightening his jacket. “We should be seeing where she went.”

Simone turned without a word and strode off toward the rear of the inn. Drayton followed, feeling an odd mixture of resentment and pity for a nameless, faceless man standing at an altar in the distant, blessedly fuzzy future. He sighed and shook his head, amazed and a bit disgusted with himself. He wasn’t the domestic type, had never once in his life had so much as a fleeting thought about the virtues of settling down to a hearth and home of his own. And here he was feeling positively paternal about a fourteen-year-old girl who’d come into his keeping less than three hours ago.

But better paternal, he decided, as he rounded the corner of the inn, than the feelings the sight of Caroline’s
backside ignited in him. Christ on a crutch. Did she have any idea of what went through mens’ minds when they saw a woman on her knees and elbows, her derriere angled up in . . . Well, it wasn’t an invitation. Not a conscious one, anyway. He needed to pretend he didn’t see it. He needed to erase the searing fantasy from his mind. Which would be a hell of a lot easier if it weren’t such a good one and if she’d get up from there and stop fueling it.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” she was saying as she peered under the smokehouse. “Please come out.”

Simone dropped down on the wooden steps, looked back at him and then down at her sister kneeling in the dirt. “Lord have mercy,” she muttered, planting her elbow on her knee and her chin in the palm of her hand. “Ain’t this gonna be fun.”

“Caroline,” he said, pausing to clear his throat. “If I might have a word with you, please.”

She didn’t get up; that would have been kind. Instead, she turned her head to look up at him. Her prim little bonnet was gone; to where he had no idea and didn’t care. The tumble of her golden hair around her face and shoulders was beyond perfection. Her face, flushed rosy pink from running . . . The fantasy was so provocative that he had to strangle back a groan of appreciation. There was nothing he could do about the intense heat and instant flow of his blood, though. He carefully shifted his stance in accommodation. In desperation, he extended his hand, saying tightly, “Allow me to assist you up.”

She put her gloved hand in his and the current surged from his fingertips to his toes. Swallowing, he put on a smile and balanced her as she gathered up her skirts and got to her feet. Once she was upright, matters improved
considerably. At least his brain could think of something other than proving that he was a complete cad.

“According to her aunt,” he began, keeping his voice low so that the hiding child couldn’t hear herself being discussed, “Fiona is . . .” He touched his fingertip to the side of his head.

“Crazy,” Simone translated. “Bet it was a horse. Got her foot, too. Did ya see how she limps?”

No, he hadn’t, actually. Caroline nodded. “They said she was born crippled,” he explained, thinking that it couldn’t be all that bad if the girl could run. “But they didn’t elaborate on the nature of the deformity. She can hear and speak, but rarely chooses to do the latter. She has always preferred the companionship of animals to that of people. They said that if she’s not tied up, she’ll wander off into the woods and not return.”

“A faerie,” Simone declared.

Her sister sighed and looked down at her. “Surely you don’t believe such nonsense.”

“Not until I seen her.”

“Stop it, Simone,” she said. “You’re an intelligent young woman and know better. The poor child needs all the acceptance we can give her. Lord knows that she’s probably never had so much as a dram of it in her life.”

“Undoubtedly true,” Drayton agreed. “However, I don’t think standing here, cooing and smiling in acceptance, is going to lure her out from under the building.”

Simone brightened and lifted her chin from her hand. “Want me to go in after her?”

“No,” he said, unbuttoning his coat. “I will go after her.”

The touch was light, but just as jolting as the last one had been. He went still as he looked down at the hand on
his forearm, then up and into the pair of softly earnest blue eyes.

“She cowered the instant she saw you get out of the carriage,” she said, drawing her hand back now that she had his attention. “And she withered into herself as you spoke with her aunt and uncle. To me, the reactions suggest that she hasn’t been treated all that kindly by men in the past. Why don’t the two of you go inside, see to our rooms and the ordering of baths and a meal for all of us, while I try to coax out our frightened little hedgehog? If I’m unsuccessful, then you can scramble in and drag her out.”

It made sense. He’d noted the reactions, too. “Fifteen minutes,” he offered. “No more than that.”

She nodded and turned to the sister perched on the steps. “Simone, please be a dear and get me a lap robe from the carriage.”

Simone stood, asking, “You gonna throw it over her head and grab her?”

“No. I’m going to offer her warmth and gentle compassion.”

With a roll of her eyes, Simone dutifully trotted off toward the carriage. As she went, Caroline dropped gracefully to her knees in front of him. Drayton turned away as nonchalantly as he could, pretending that he was far more interested in watching Simone run her errand than he was in the new fantasy searing his imagination. To further distract himself, he cleared his throat and spat out the first coherent words that drifted through his awareness. “You’re going to ruin your gown if you go under there.”