Patrica Rice (4 page)

“Obviously,” she replied, her voice tinged with irony. She feared to look too closely at his features, and the broad-brimmed slouch hat he wore pulled low hid him well.

“I have answered your questions, Miss Pert. Now tell me what you are doing here and how you recognize me. It is not at all healthy for either of us for you to know who I am.”

Daphne gave a supercilious sniff. “I am merely exploring my aunt’s property. And I cannot think that many thieves wear bay rum. It is hard come by outside of London and not generally worn by any but gentlemen familiar with the clubs of London.”

His tone was one of wry mockery at himself. “I see that I shall have to grow a beard and cease bathing to better blend in with my surroundings. You are too sharp by far, Miss Templeton. I would advise you not to let anyone know that you can recognize me. It would cause both of us some difficulty.”

“I can imagine it would cause you a few sleepless nights,’’ she agreed with alacrity. “But I do not think anyone would believe me if I told them. You overestimate the general populace.”

She continued with the tale she’d heard from her maid. “Now tell me how it is that the Hanks girl received only sufficient fare for a coach ride to visit her ailing mother when that ring you stole was worth enough to pay her fare by post chaise all the way?”

The highwayman leaned one arm across the saddle and stared down into her intrepid expression with amusement. Her face was all frail bones and delicate angles, dominated by the largest, most vibrant green eyes he had ever had the misfortune to encounter. Long, dark lashes swept upward as she glared back at him, and he had the urge to kiss that rosy flush on her cheek to see if those lashes would close in pleasure. It was an insane urge and he resisted it.

“Thieves have to live, too, Miss Templeton. Did you think those men I had with me that night robbed carriages for fun? What I do with my share is my business, not theirs. They have naught else to live on but what we steal. It is a sad state of affairs that the men who fought so bravely to save our country from Napoleon’s maw must be reduced to thievery to eat, but you need not understand that.”

“No, I need not.” Furious, but more because of the unsettling effect his proximity had on her than by his words, Daphne took the offensive. “They could work like honest men. You do them no favors by encouraging them to an occupation that only can lead to the most violent of deaths.”

She did not know why she assumed that he was their leader, but he had a commanding air about him that could not cause her to think otherwise.

His laugh was short and bitter. “What kind of occupation do you think they had in the army? They are hardened to the inevitability of death, and a violent one is preferable to slow starvation. Look around you. Miss Templeton, and try to imagine who would employ crippled men whose only skills are to shoot other people? It is a wonder England is not overrun with cutthroats and thieves now that this war is over. I, at least, keep them from violence.”

Daphne knew first hand the prejudice society held against the unfit. It didn’t justify wrong, but she certainly was not one to hand out advice on how to combat it. She wrapped the reins more tightly around her gloved hand and began to search for a fallen tree that might serve as mounting block.

“I am sure you are to be commended, sir,” she replied haughtily. “Just know it is on your head if anyone comes to harm. Lord Griffin seems most upset by your escapades, and he has vowed to see them halted.”

“Has he now?” Amusement laced his voice as he lifted her forgotten jacket from the saddle and handed it to her, then calmly caught her by the waist and threw her up on the horse before her faltering attempts at mounting could become an embarrassment. “Well, I shall certainly take that into serious consideration. Does he come calling often. Miss Templeton? A viscount makes quite a handsome catch.”

“You are insulting, sir.” Whipping the reins from his protective grip, Daphne spurred her horse into motion. She did not have to endure the insinuations of a thief, gentleman or no.

“Don’t come back here, Miss Templeton!” he called after her as she rode off toward the beckoning sunlight. For his own peace of mind, don’t come back here, he thought as he watched her proudly ride away.

It had been a long time since he had held and talked to a lady. Too long, if he was beginning to look fondly on a brittle termagant like that. He must have jelly for brains to even consider it.

Chapter Three

That Friday evening, garbed in what she considered a modest costume of green sprigged batiste with the new flounced hem, a wide green satin sash, and long sleeves ending in a slight ruffle, Daphne entered Lord Griffin’s home accompanied by her aunt.

The mounting whispers as she entered the salon caused her to stiffen. Assuming they were the usual rumors and speculation about her mother’s death and her own involvement, Daphne held her chin high and barely touched Lord Griffin’s arm as he led her to a chair.

Before she could be seated, a young lady all in white with the puffed sleeves of several seasons ago hurried to join them. “Lord Griffin, please, introduce me before Mama comes back into the room. I have never met someone who’s talked to a highwayman before, and I have so many questions to ask.”

Daphne heard the warm amusement in the viscount’s voice as he made the introduction. Judging by Miss Jane Dalrymple’s breathless forwardness, she was considered the town beauty. It seemed that only attractive people could get away with such behavior.

“Please, Miss Templeton, do not think me encroaching. I have so wished to meet you. You are the only lady hereabouts even close to my age, and you have such a dashing reputation, I just thought I would die should we not be introduced.”

Dashing reputation? Daphne’s brows rose and she heard Lord Griffin’s chuckle, but she managed a polite smile. “Then we must get to know one another, Miss Dalrymple. It will be good to have someone of my own age to converse with.”

She was quite certain she was at least five years the girl’s senior, but she would not quibble over age differences. If the girl wished to consider her reputation dashing because her mother had committed suicide, standards were considerably different between town and country. Or did her conversation with the highwayman truly rate that ranking?

“Oh, I knew you would be all that is proper. Mama would keep me hidden under a stone if she could. Imagine, thinking you fast simply because you have talked with a highwayman! I think it ever so exciting, don’t you?”

Dashing, now fast—what kind of reputation had she developed in these rural circles? Daphne sent her host an inquiring look, but he merely squeezed her arm gently and released her.

“I shall leave you safely in the company of Miss Dalrymple, shall I? I must see to my other guests.” Lord Griffin strode off, leaving Daphne momentarily stranded in a strange room with only this frippery female for company. Lady Agatha had already wandered off to gossip with her own cronies.

Daphne was about to begin on the polite series of questions she had learned to fulfill her social obligations when Miss Dalrymple made an expression of annoyance.

“Dash it all! Here comes Mama. She will drag me away, I know. Please say you will come riding with us Monday. Mama cannot complain if I say you are of Lord Griffin’s party.”

Having been an object of pity and suspicion, and a nuisance to be politely invited along with her cousins for the last years, Daphne found it extremely irregular to suddenly be considered a fast woman not to be met in polite company. She made a wry smile and a murmur that could be considered assent before the protective matron arrived to snatch her daughter away.

“Come along then, Jane. You must not be occupying all of Miss Templeton’s time. There is Mr. Riggs just come in. Let us greet him and thank him for the lovely seeds his gardener sent over last week.”

Daphne thought herself suddenly abandoned only to have a voice intrude upon her from behind. The familiarity of the accents sent a chill down her spine until she realized it was Lord Griffin. She mentally shook her head over the lapse in her perception and turned to give him her attention.

“You must forgive Mrs. Dalrymple, Miss Templeton. She has lived all her life in the country and abides by the rules of another age. She will come around soon enough, but you must expect to be a stranger here for a while. London ladies seldom visit these environs, particularly not ones as lovely as you.” He took the chair that Jane had just recently vacated.

Such flattery did not often come her way, and usually then only in the most perfunctory of manners. Lord Griffin’s charm had an immediate effect, and Daphne relaxed in his company.

“I shall be quite overwhelmed momentarily, my lord, if you continue so. How is it that London ladies do not visit here but you seem very much at home? I cannot believe that London has not been your life for some while.”

“For a number of years it was, but I grew bored of it early. I have spent most of my life learning my grandfather’s estate. One rural neighborhood can be very much like another, I suspect.”

The call came for dinner then, and they were interrupted. The local squire led Daphne to the table while Lord Griffin escorted her aunt. It seemed very strange to be considered part of the social hierarchy after years of playing the part of everyone’s dependent, invalid cousin.

 She was not certain she enjoyed her new status any more than the old. Society assigned her a place and expected her to stay there without anyone’s consulting her wishes, as if knowing where she belonged was the same as knowing who she was. Being Lady Agatha’s dashing London niece was no more her style than being her London family’s peculiar relative. What would it take to make people see her as herself?

After dinner, when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, the company formed foursomes for whist. Not appreciating the niceties of this social accomplishment, Daphne politely bowed out. To her surprise. Lord Griffin also declined. His tall form loomed beside her a moment later, and he extended his hand.

“I have a flower in the garden that seems only to bloom at night. Would you care to help identify it for me? Lady Agatha tells me you enjoy gardening.”

She was twenty-three years of age and not some schoolroom miss. Daphne saw no reason why she should not accompany a gentleman alone into me garden. If her reputation was already
fast,
she might as well enhance it. Besides, she much preferred the cool night air to me stuffy confines of a salon of cardplayers.

She accepted without hesitation, taking his offered arm and following him through the French doors to the terrace beyond. It did not take many steps into the garden to recognize his night-blooming plant just from the scent, but Daphne refrained from announcing it immediately. She rather enjoyed the opportunity to stroll privately on the arm of a handsome viscount. Such opportunities never occurred in London.

“I understand your aunt allows you to ride alone, Miss Templeton.” He spoke with a certain hesitation, as if fearful of giving offense.

Not knowing if he objected in general or because he recognized her lameness, Daphne replied pleasantly, “My aunt’s properties are not so large or dangerous as to give me reason to do otherwise, my lord. After London, the privacy is most welcome.”

He shook his head and sent her a puzzled look. “Surely by now you must know your loveliness can attract more than flattering attention. Even the plainest of ladies would do well to ride accompanied now that our woods seem to be filled with unsavory characters. I should recommend a small army to keep you protected from unwelcome attentions.”

Daphne laughed at his seriousness. “You do that very well, my lord. I was not even expecting it. An army! Well done, I congratulate you. I am most flattered. Although, as I understand it, it is a piece of the army who lives in those woods. I should think my own company better than theirs.”

She touched a round white blossom in the darkness. A sweet scent perfumed the air. “Is this the plant you brought me to see?”

“Not the most attractive of blooms, perhaps, but it is rather magnificent in the dark, is it not?” He pinched a branch to give to her. “And I was not offering gallant flattery. Miss Templeton. These are dangerous times. You almost came to harm your first night here. I would not have it happen again.”

Daphne touched the blooms in her hand. Magnificent in the dark, how well he said that. “It is a night-blooming nicotiana, my lord, a tobacco plant. How extraordinary to find it here. Did your father travel a lot to bring this home?”

She was diverting the subject without giving him the reassurances he desired, but Gordon made no objection. She did not wear her hair in a fashionable frill of curls, but small wisps of light brown had escaped her coiffure, and his fingers ached to smooth them back from her face. There was something frail and vulnerable about her that he longed to protect, but he could only do that by keeping his hands to himself.

“Yes, he traveled almost constantly after my mother died. There are times when I think he never intended to live long enough to take his title and place in society. It feels very odd to be the Viscount Griffin now, when that is how I thought of him all those years.”

Responding to the sadness in his voice. Daphne touched his sleeve. “My aunt told me he died only a year or so ago, and that you lost your brother not long after. I am so sorry, my lord. I cannot even begin to imagine two such losses. It must be very difficult for you.”

Something seemed to snap shut between them at these words. Without replying to them, Gordon formally placed her hand in me crook of his elbow and turned toward the house. “You will be missed inside, Miss Templeton. It was rude of me to keep you from the company for so long.”

She didn’t know what she had said to cause this reaction. Was it wrong to offer sympathy? Had she somehow overstepped the bounds of propriety? She hurried along at his side, abysmally defeated by his rejection so reminiscent of her days in London society.

“I apologize if I have offended you, my lord,” she offered, feeling all the old hurts flooding back at the potential loss of this new friend. “I do not usually gossip, but in the country, everyone just seems to know everything. I will mention the subject no more.”