Patrica Rice (9 page)

With a crisp smile that said everything and nothing, she replied, “Of course, my lord, Gordon, I mean to bring Robin Hood around the same as you. The two of you are very much alike, you know.”

To his credit, the viscount only made a startled jerk before reaching to open the door to the tea shop. His thoughtful gaze fell on the smiling uplifted face of the daring Miss Templeton as they entered the shop, and he experienced the sinking feeling that he had met his Waterloo.

How could one slender, interfering female wreak such havoc in so short a time? Thank God she wasn’t working for the enemy.

Even as he thought it, he watched the scarlet coat of Captain Rollings rise up from the table inside and bow in greeting.

By all that was holy, they were in for it sooner or later.

Chapter Seven

“Have you taken leave of your few remaining senses? Of all the caper-witted, maggot-brained ...”

Rhys dusted an invisible mote off his new broadcloth coat. It was a servant’s plain brown sack coat without an ounce of fashion to it, but it was blessedly clean and whole. He was rather proud of it for the moment, and he gazed at Evan with more amusement than concern.

“She’s a rare dragon, that, you know. A golden dragon with wings of gossamer. While the two of you battle over her, I think I’ll steal her away.”

Evan swung around and aimed a furious punch at the Welshman’s nose. Rhys ducked, and the fire died out of Evan just as swiftly as it had flared up. He shrugged his own filthy coat back on and stared out over the sloping riverbank.

“She’s not for the like of either of us. Gordon’s welcome to her. She’ll beat the countryside into shape in no time. And when she’s done here, she’ll be a grand countess with an entire earldom to reform. We need to put our minds to ensuring that will come about.”

Rhys gave a disdainful snort. “That means keeping both of you hale and hearty. Now what’s the chance of that? And if the lady becomes involved with either of you ...” He gave another shrug. “She’d be better off with me.”

Evan gave an explicit curse as to the origin of his friend’s birth, then grimaced in recognition of the truth of his words. “How in hell are we going to get her out of here? Damn Gordon for encouraging her! Had he not thrown his cap over the windmill, she might have grown bored with the countryside and left.”

Rhys threw another branch on the fire and crouched warily on a log. His new trousers were a trifle tight, and he didn’t wish to ruin them. “Had you not stopped her coach, she might never have met either of you, and Rollings would be the lady’s only concern. Looking back is to no advantage. How will you be rid of her? Scare her off?”

Evan clenched his fists and glared at the dying light of the sun behind the trees. He was being an imbecile. This was no time to be arguing over women. Damn, but he was out of his mind to even be thinking of a woman he had only met three times, and then under the worst circumstances. Rhys was right. They had to remove her from Devon. Maybe later, long in the future, he could contemplate wooing and winning her.

“Give me time, I’ll think of something,’’ he muttered, and stalked away.

Rhys stared after him, wondering if it wouldn’t just be wiser to go to the lady and tell her the truth. She was the first female he had encountered who hadn’t looked at his mutilated foot in pity or horror. She might be sensible enough to handle the truth. But it wasn’t his story to tell. Kicking at the fire, he settled more comfortably on the log. Lord Griffin knew better than to expect him to sleep in the stables.

* * * *

Evan stared up at the darkened windows of the house. He had watched as candles flickered out until only one burned behind the heavy draperies, then went out a brief while later. What was someone as lovely as she doing in an isolated village like this? Why had she never married?

What was the story behind her real or imagined cowardice? Or lameness? What was there about her that drew him like a moth to a flame? There were so many questions he would like to ask, but he had no right to speak of any of them.

How did one go about scaring off a lady as intrepid as Miss Daphne Templeton? Imagine finding employment for a villainous character like Llewellyn! She was beyond the bounds of reason, on a plane all her own. Perhaps she compensated for her fancied cowardice by being fearless in all she did.

Frowning, Evan glared upward. He could try reason, but he daren’t endanger her with the facts. Well, then, he would have to make it clear that she was in danger without giving explanations.

He stroked his jaw, wishing he hadn’t just shaved. He ought to look the part of ruthless mercenary, at least. Remembering her treatment of the disreputable Rhys, Evan grinned. Looking the part wouldn’t aid his cause. In all probability, she wouldn’t even see him in the dark. He needed to smell the part.

He had just bathed in the river, but at least he had refrained from dousing himself with his favorite scent. Drawing a silver flask from his pocket, he took a quick gulp, then sprinkled the contents liberally over his already ruined clothes. The ale had faded out after several washings. He would see how well brandy worked.

The next task was tricky, but not difficult. Mounting his horse, Evan rode quietly to the shrubbery beneath the portico. It was a moment’s work to grasp the arch between the Corinthian columns and swing his long legs to the flat roof. He then need only find a foothold in the vines and stones beneath the open casement ...

Evan swung onto the window ledge, one leg in, one leg out as he halted to survey his position. Through a partial opening he created between the draperies he could see only the shadows of an armoire and one post of a curtained bed in the heavy darkness. Miss Templeton would undoubtedly be lying in that bed, and he tried not to allow his imagination to roam over what might be revealed had he a lamp to light his way. His intent was to terrify, not admire.

He hadn’t completely thought this through. Should he make this a verbal attack? A physical assault to her belongings? Both? Perhaps he should have just brought a written message warning her away. Too late for that now. He was here and he’d have to make what he could of it.

Evan swung his other leg into the room and was met with a solid blow to his stomach just as he straightened. With an “oomph,” he staggered slightly backward, catching himself on the window sash. A second blow lashed out, and he found himself grabbing at billows of silk in the darkness.

Caught by surprise, he let the froth of fabric go, and the weapon made a third and equally silent strike. In great danger of falling backward out an upper story window, Evan wielded his forces a little better this time, and his hand filled with the silken stuff and didn’t let go.

A muffled cry of frustration followed this ruse, and Evan chuckled. He stifled it, and tried to sound gruff as he jerked the flimsy parasol from her hands. “It ain’t particularly smart to go after them what’s bigger than you are.” He thought the false accent a particularly fine touch. He flung the parasol into the bushes below and stood to his full height, looming over the delicate maiden in her long nightrail and braid.

Instead of crying out in fear and trying to escape, Miss Daphne Templeton merely gave a sound of disgust and stalked away, muttering, “You! I should have known.”

Evan stared after her in astonishment. She couldn’t possibly recognize him. It was dark. He had disguised his voice and his accent. How the devil could she know it was him? It had to be a bluff.

“You expectin’ someone else?” he asked in his most churlish tones, moving threateningly after her.

Daphne removed a robe from the armoire and tugged it on, struggling with the bits of ribbon that tied beneath her breasts as the ungallant Robin Hood advanced into her room.

Perhaps she ought to be terrified. He smelled to high heaven of brandy and was most probably drunk, but she didn’t think real miscreants went to the trouble of disguising their voices. She finally managed to knot the ribbon and took up a stance on the far side of the secretary, using it as a barrier to his progress.

“You could certainly have found a better way to talk to me than this. It is most improper. Have you come to say you’re taking your criminal services to other parts of the country? Or will you offer some ridiculous explanation of this masquerade?”

Her prim, knowing tones infuriated him. Frustrated, Evan stood with hands on hips and glared down at his daring antagonist, wishing he could shake her. He didn’t overlook the fact that she had a silver letter opener and a solid brass inkwell within inches of her fingers. Couldn’t she at least act vaporish at this intrusion?

“Miss Templeton, you are the most irritating female I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. How the deuce can you know who I am?”

She hadn’t realized how thoroughly frightened she had been until his familiar accents rang in her ear and the muscles in her back and shoulders seemed to melt with relief. She caught the edge of the desk and glared at him.

“Who else would be mad enough to crawl in my window in the middle of the night? Honestly, will you never grow up? I have half a mind to scream for the servants and put an end to your foolishness forever.”

Never grow up? Here he was trying to save her bloody life, and she accused him of a child’s game! He ought to wring her pretty neck, but instead, Evan grinned and leaned his hip against the secretary, crossing his arms as he looked down on her thick, silken tresses.

She was severely out of charity with him, and he ought to be berating her soundly for a half dozen causes, but all he could think of was how sweet she smelled now that he was this close. He could have her in his arms in a minute, but he rather imagined she would scream the roof down should he try. That thought led to even more interesting images, and his grin grew broader.

“We should be thoroughly compromised if you utter so much as one tiny moan, Miss Templeton, but I’ll not object to that. Scream, and let us see who regrets it later.”

Fury washed over her. She wanted to scream and shout and beat her fists against his arrogant chest and kick his shins and make him regret his insufferable attitude. At the very least, she ought to scratch his eyes out, but the thought of reaching up to accomplish such a thing stirred far different emotions, and she managed only a “Conceited oaf” before retreating further into the corner.

At Daphne’s retreat, Evan advanced, keeping only a few feet between them. He had meant to terrify her, but instead, he was having more fun than he’d had in a long time. What a dance she could lead him if they were only in different circumstances. He had never paid much attention to ladies before, but beneath that frail exterior, she was as much a soldier as he. Conceited oaf, indeed.

He smiled. “I’m only here to warn you, Miss Templeton. Anything else is on your head.”

“You could have found a more decorous means of sending a message, Mr. Griffin. This is highly improper, and that was my best parasol you flung in the bushes. How will I ever explain that?”

“Tell them you were experimenting with flying. I should think more modern witches might try parasols rather than brooms. I don’t care what you tell them, Miss Templeton, just heed what I have to say.”

She wished she had taken the parasol to his head. He was too close, and she could not retreat farther. He filled her senses, his broad shoulders blocking out all view of the room, his masculine frame overpowering her slight one just by standing there.

The brandy fumes helped keep her perspective, but only slightly. “Then speak and be gone,” she declared boldly.

Momentarily stunned by the proximity of all this dainty femininity challenging him with more than words, Evan did not immediately reply. It had been so long since he had held a woman, heard the rustle of silk, felt the velvet smoothness of a woman’s hands, that he ached with the need now. Just a step closer ...

He resisted. Forcing his mind to overrule his body, he replied dryly, “You have a remarkable propensity for getting yourself in and out of trouble that I can only applaud, Miss Templeton, but you have no idea of the immensity of the danger you are placing yourself in by interfering where you should not. I would recommend an immediate return to London if you value your life.”

He was much too close, and the room was so dark ... Daphne had the insane thought that her most immediate danger was this man filling her field of vision. The desire to be taken into his arms and be held against him fogged her senses, and she could only grasp the wall and pray for rationality. What was there about this commanding Robin Hood that impelled her to him rather than away, as all good logic would demand?

“Are you threatening me, Mr. Griffin?”

Her quiet question nearly broke his control. Evan lifted his hand to bring her closer, then dropped it as if burned. “Forces beyond my control are threatening you, Miss Templeton. For your own safety, you must go away. Not forever, perhaps. Just a little while, just long enough for matters to be settled.”

He sounded almost unhappy at the thought of sending her away, and Daphne regained a little more of her confidence. She straightened and drifted an inch closer, wishing she had a candle. There had to be some way of differentiating him from his brother.

Instead of questioning his words, she impulsively drew her fingers across his cheek, seeking their differences. She found the same rugged cheekbones, traced them downward to a strong jaw, almost square in its breadth, with a rounded dent in the chin.

Her fingers moved upward, exploring the chiseled, mobile lines of his mouth that remained tense and expectant beneath her touch. She felt the harsh blade of his nose and reached to stroke the golden thickness of his brows and outline the high plane of this forehead, wrinkled now in a frown of concentration. Her fingers briefly entangled in the warm strands of his hair before quickly retreating.

Somewhat taken aback by her forwardness, Evan struggled to remain still throughout her examination, but when she was done, he expelled a soft sigh. “Can you tell I am not Gordon? Will you believe me now?”