My Dearest Enemy (15 page)

Resting on his elbows, one leg crooked and the other stretched out before him, his vest unbuttoned and his collar agape, Avery tilted his head back and blew out a fragrant cloud of cigar smoke. Through the bluish haze, he saw Lily, seated at least a dozen feet away and upwind, wrinkle her nose and cough. Nearby Polly Makepeace grilled poor Bernard about his "life at an institution." Hob had managed to shove her here in her wheelchair.

Perhaps it was because he'd never had the opportunity to enjoy the company of women when they were at ease and relaxed, but he found he rather enjoyed listening to them. He discovered they were much more complex than he'd have guessed. Except for Lily Bede—whom he'd never made the mistake of underestimating.

He turned his head to see her better. In profile her lashes were extravagantly long, her nose patrician, her nostrils wide, her lips full.

Impossible creature. Argumentative. Pinch-penny. Incisive. Tender. She probably laid abed at night plotting ways to provoke him. Her determination to have Mill House was nearly as great as his own. Finding such resolution and intensity in one of the creatures he'd been taught were pliant and tractable confounded him and must account for his utterly inexplicable fascination with her.

"What are your plans for tomorrow, Lily?" Evelyn was asking.

"Not much," Lily responded. "I have an appointment to speak to Mr. Drummond, the same as I do every third Monday of the month."

"You should tell your overseer to wash the raddle off your sheep soon," Polly spoke up, drawing the amazed looks of the entire party. "Saw the beasts standing about in the stuff. It's going to be a nasty hot summer. You don't want the sheep sickening while their wool dries."

"I will mention it," Lily said.

"Miss Makepeace's father oversaw one of the Earl of Hinton's farms," Evelyn confided.

"Sounds tedious," Francesca said and then, at Evelyn's gasp, added, "Oh, not your father's occupation, Miss Makepeace. Lily's plans for the morrow. Drummond and she have never gotten along."

Lily wished Francesca hadn't brought up her problems with the farm manager. Avery would see her inability to handle Drummond as evidence of her ineffectiveness. Though why that should matter to her was beyond her understanding. "We deal reasonably well together."

"But Lily!" Evelyn exclaimed. "You are always saying that the man has no respect for you. Last time you had an appointment, he locked you out of his office."

Lily produced a nervous laugh. "Oh, that was just his little joke."

"I suspect he'd listen to you if Avery stood at your side," Evelyn said sagely. Lily glared at her.

"That won't be necessary." She glanced at Avery, who lay spread out like a potentate amidst his concubines.

"I remember old Drummond," he said lazily. An idea was taking form. He wanted to discover what Lily had done to the farm. The record from the household had only told of expenditures on soap, dry goods, and groceries. The bank's officers had not known how she'd managed to accrue a positive balance, only that she had. Perhaps she'd made her profits by selling off equipment, or by overgrazing the pastures. Drummond could tell him. "Taught me to snare rabbits."

"Such a font of knowledge," Lily said.

"Oh, you'd be amazed," Avery told her. "Drummond's really rather a dear."

Lily's mouth dropped open. "Drummond?
Dear}"

"Well, maybe 'dear' is overstating his appeal a bit." Avery couldn't help but grin.

Lily's dark eyes widened, her brows rose, the corners of her mouth tipped up, and she laughed.

Throaty, deep, delicious laughter that vibrated through his heart.

"Drummond's allure is rather elusive," she said with that throaty chuckle.

His own smile widened. She leaned forward, as though to say something more. He tossed his cigar away and sat up to hear her better. Her lips still held the shadow of her smile. Her expression was genial and unguarded. A wisp of raven hair that had escaped captivity danced across her smooth brow.

With the slightest effort he could bridge the distance between them, curl his fingers around her slender throat, and pull her mouth down to his and—

What the hell was he thinking? Abruptly he recognized the silence surrounding them. He looked around. All eyes were turned in their direction. Expectancy vibrated in the air. Lily, shaking her head like a swimmer coming up from too long underwater, sank back against the tree.

Evelyn sighed, Francesca closed her eyes with an air of disgust, Polly Makepeace snorted, and Bernard divided anxious glances amongst them all.

Avery's instincts were clamoring again. Something was going on. Well, he had a few plans of his own. "Drummond's probably the last person still here who worked on the estate when I was a boy. I wonder if he remembers me." He paused. "Mind if I tag along after you tomorrow?"

Lily eyed him warily. "You'd be bored."

"That's right. She does have an estate to run, you know," Polly said with grudging pride. "She can't play hostess all the time. Besides, I'm sure you wouldn't understand half of what they'll be discussing."

"I'm confident I would cull the essentials from their discussion," he replied with forced calm. The truth was he knew next to nothing about farming. The realization that Polly Makepeace did was irksome in the extreme.

"You'd be better off visiting this man later when they have finished their business," Polly went on in that off-putting tone. "Then you and this Drummond can reminisce about rabbits to your heart's content. No need to interfere with important work. Don't you agree, Mrs. Thorne?"

Evelyn gulped and nodded.

Stonily, Avery regarded Polly Makepeace. Now she'd crossed the line from advising to patronizing— which was intolerable.

Evelyn took a deep breath. "If you're bored, Mr. Thorne, perhaps Mrs. Kettle will pack you a nice lunch. You could eat by the river. Perhaps even fish. I'm sure Bernard would be happy to help you dig worms in the morning." She finished her little speech in a breathless rush and slumped down in her chair as if near fainting.

"Ah." Bernard's head snapped back and forth between his mother and Polly Makepeace. "Of course. My pleasure."

Fishing. Picnics. Digging for worms. They even thought they'd found the useless male a playmate in old Drummond. Next they'd be suggesting a rousing game of badminton so he'd sleep well tonight.

"That's settled then," Lily said, clapping her hands together and rummaging into one of the oversized wicker baskets. "Now, how about a nice game of badminton?"

Francesca shrugged. Bernard nodded eagerly. Even Evelyn's wan face lit up as she rose to her feet.

"No."

The women, in the process of handing out rackets, stopped and blinked at him.

"It's quite an enjoyable game, Mr. Thorne," Polly said. "You shouldn't have any trouble learning the rules."

He struggled to keep his voice level. "I meant 'no' it's not settled. Not 'no' to your game."

"What's not settled?" Lily asked.

"Whether or not I accompany you to Drummond's office tomorrow. Unless there is something you specifically wish me not to know, I see no reason why I shouldn't go along with you."

Lily drew a hissing breath. "Are you suggesting I__"

"I'm
suggesting
that there is no reason at all why I shouldn't hear what you and Drummond discuss. I already have plans to leave for London the following day."

"Oh? Why?" she asked.

"To order some"—he glanced down—"clothes."

Triumphantly he indicated where his shirt stretched tightly across his chest. "Unless you object?"

Point to him. Lily regarded him with an unreadable expression. Rather like a desert rat held in the mesmerizing sway of a cobra, though the reason why she should suddenly look so threatened eluded him.

"No," she said in an odd, stilted voice, "no objections. Suit yourself."

Francesca, who'd been uncharacteristically silent during the entire exchange, laughed. "I may have to foreswear the Derby entirely this year. The entertainment at Mill House promises to be far more diverting."

"Yoo-hoo!" A girlish voice trumpeted from somewhere between them and the house. A second later Teresa, the most pregnant of Mill House's three maids, trudged into view. Spying them, she stopped dead, clutched her chest, and fell over flat on her back, stiff legs poking dramatically above the grass before dropping out of sight.

"My God!" Bernard exclaimed. Before Avery could act, Bernard took off across the field, his long legs and flapping coat conspiring to give him the appearance of a giant stork attacking a mollusk.

"Oh, my," Evelyn murmured.

Without a word, Avery headed for where he could see Bernard attempting to hoist Teresa. It didn't look to be going too well. Bernard had Teresa under her knees and around her shoulders. If she hadn't been swollen like an October pumpkin she would have folded in the middle. As it was, she looked like a fat octopus perched on a piece of coral. Legs and arms wheeled madly as the boy struggled to cany her.

Avery tapped the struggling Bernard on the shoulder. The boy's head swung around. "I'm… fine… sir."

"No, he ain't," complained Teresa, apparently quite conscious. "He's gonna drop me!"

"Maybe I should carry—" Avery started to say, but the wounded expression on Bernard's face stopped him.

Teresa, however, was not quite so sensitive to Bernard's role as her knight-errant. "Yes, sir," she said eagerly. "I think you should. Wouldn't do to injure the poor boy's back now, would it? Not when a strapping fellow like you could carry poor wee me without raising a sweat."

"Hmm," Avery said. Sweat was indeed beading up on Bernard's forehead, and his breathing had developed a familiar rattling quality. Much more of his present exertion and Bernard would succumb to a fullblown attack. And yet, Avery all too well remembered the humiliation of being physically inadequate. Of feeling ineffectual, powerless… less than a man.

"Perhaps she might proceed under her own power?" Lily suggested.

He hadn't heard her approach. She stood very tall, eyes as piercing as a member of the Spanish Inquisition about to begin an examination. Behind her came

Franceses, Evelyn, and Polly Makepeace being shoved along by a grumbling Hobs.

Teresa smiled weakly. "I swear I don't know what come over me, Miss Bede."

"Really?" Lily's cool gaze encompassed them. "I wonder if I could guess? Bernard, put her down. And, no, Mr. Thorne, your services won't be needed. The girl is fine. Aren't you, Teresa?"

Bernard lowered Teresa awkwardly to her feet. She gave a sickly grin and nervously wiped her hands on her apron. "Yes, ma'am. I'm fine now. I think it was the heat, ma'am."

"Heat? Pshaw! Women are far too frail these days," Polly declared. "I think it is because of those unnatural contraptions they wear beneath their clothing. Corsets and bustles and such. What do you think, Mr. Thorne?"

"I?" Thorne echoed, confounded by the turn of the conversation. He'd never given any thought to women's undergarments. Well, actually, as a boy he'd given it quite a lot of thought, but never in concert with health considerations. "I don't think anything."

"As suspected," Lily muttered.

"I meant," he said with formidable calm, "that I do not have an opinion."

"Well, I do," Miss Makepeace said. "If women stopped wearing all that rubbish they'd find themselves capable of much more. In fact, I suspect corsets were created by men to keep women from discovering that except for certain unavoidable procreative functions men are by and large unnecessary."

"That," Avery said, "is the most ridiculous piece of bull—of vanity I have ever heard."

"I think Miss Makepeace makes an excellent point," Lily said. "Except for cruder matters requiring bulk and brawn, a woman can do anything a man can."

"Please," Avery said, "don't embarrass yourself."

"Would you like me to prove it?"

"This is not worth discussing."

She tossed her head. "Ha! Men always say that when they are about to lose an argument."

He'd had enough. "How would
you
know what men always say, Miss Bede? I'd thought that hitherto you'd dedicated yourself to living as independently of men as possible."

"Oh!"

"Women always say that when they're about to lose an argument," he purred.

Arriving last, Francesca flopped down on the grass and cradled her chin in her palm. Evelyn, after a confused glance around, sank down next to her and folded her hands. Teresa, forgotten, shuffled uncomfortably.

"Are you afraid to accept such a challenge?"

For ten long heartbeats, they faced each other, energy, frustration, and pure, unadulterated heat burning up the space between them.

"No," he finally said, "I am a gentleman. I will not accept a spurious dare that would only make us both look foolish." He turned.

"Coward."

His head snapped back a fraction of an inch, but he did not retaliate. He
would
be a gentleman.

"Why did you come out here?" he addressed Teresa.

"Huh? Oh. I came out to tell you there's guests arrived. A gentleman and two ladies. Quality. For Mr. Thorne."

"
A. gentleman
, Teresa?" Lily asked in a patently false tone of awe. "And Quality to boot? For Mr. Thorne? My, we are blessed!"

With her chin high, she whirled and headed for the house, leaving Avery to pull Francesca to her feet while Bernard performed a similar gallantry for his mother and Hob resumed shoving Polly's wheelchair.

They arrived to find Lily in the sitting room greeting a dark-haired, mustachioed young man and two pretty, fresh-faced blond girls.

"Excuse us, Miss Bede, for being so presumptuous but my sisters and I were driving by and decided to chance you would be at home and willing to receive us," the man was saying.

Well-fed, well-groomed looking chap, thought Avery. Silly mustachio. Nice boots.

"Your sisters?" A hollowness in Lily's simple query struck Avery. "But how kind, how very delightful that you would think of us," she went on, tripping over her words. "I wasn't even aware you had—I mean, your sisters! My. This seems to be a week for unantici-pated—albeit happy—arrivals. Bernard has been restored to us for the summer."