Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (32 page)

It was several seconds before Martha's anxious muttering
penetrated Susan's preoccupation. She halted then. "What did you say?"

Martha wrung her apron. "I says as it's them nasty genelmen
again, Mrs. Sue. Mr. Junius Trent, and his friend what puts me in mind
of a fat snake."

"A poisonous one," muttered Susan. Once again, Trent had timed
his visit well. Andy and Angelo were gone, and the Bo'sun had just left
for Tewkesbury with Starry and Priscilla.

She told Martha to fetch the two new men who were repairing
the stable roof. Glancing to Montclair who was coming awkwardly towards
them, she rejected the half-formed thought that he should come with her.

"I'd best help Mr. Montclair up the steps first," said Martha,
turning back.

"No! Just hurry and do as I told you."

The kind-hearted girl looked shocked. "But—Mrs. Sue, he won't
be able to get up by himself. Not on them crutches."

"I hope not," said Susan in a low grim voice.

Martha gave a squeak of fright. "Oh, ma'am! They wouldn't
never!" But seeing the cynicism in Susan's face, she panicked and
seized her by the arm. "Then you mustn't go in there, neither! Oh,
please! Let 'em wait till I find—"

"Hush! Just do as I say. Quickly!"

Martha threw a scared glance at Montclair and flew.

"Mrs. Sue!" called Montclair urgently. "What is it? Who has
come?"

She bit her lip, then replied in a pert fashion, "One of my
own wealthy admirers. So do not feel obliged to hasten, sir."

She had the dubious satisfaction of seeing him check and stand
frowning at her, then she hurried up the steps, praying that this not
be too unpleasant.

When she walked into the library, however, both Trent and Sir
Dennis Pollinger rose and made their bows with punctilious propriety.
Affecting not to notice Trent's outstretched hand, she said coolly,
"Have you a message for me, sir?"

His blue eyes, deepened by the blue of the long-tailed coat he
wore, sparkled mischief. "Only the sort to be spoken privately," he
answered, then laughed. "No, never look so icy, lovely lady. Came to
see my lamentable cousin is all. Ain't that right, Poll?"

Susan turned her cool gaze on the large and unlovely baronet.
His face seemed even redder than the last time she'd seen it, and his
brown eyes slid away furtively the instant they met hers. "Right-oh,"
he said in his harsh voice.

Susan stepped back as the odour of strong spirits wafted to
her. "I can appreciate your anxieties concerning Montclair's recovery,
Mr. Trent, but—"

Pollinger gave a neighing laugh and dug his elbow into Trent's
ribs. "Anxious are you, Junius?"

"Quiet, you clod," said Trent, grinning broadly. "Allow the
sweet widow to think the best of me." He took a pace closer to Susan.
"Egad, but you're a picture this afternoon, m'dear. And—"

"And you know all about art, don't you, cousin?"

Susan bit her lip as the icy voice sounded from the hall. She
heard Trent's whispered oath. She'd not dreamed Montclair would be able
to negotiate the back steps unassisted, but she turned to see him swing
himself into the room. He was slightly out of breath, and the dark eyes
fixed on his cousin contained a cold contempt.

For an instant the room was hushed, the very air seeming to
vibrate with tension.

"As usual, you are in error, dear Valentine," drawled Trent.
"I've no more interest in art than in music. Both are fit only for
women and old men. I fancy, though, that you're anxious to get back to
work on your cacophonous concerto. To which end," a sly smile curved
his mouth, "I do trust your hand is better."

Montclair set his jaw and ignored the taunt. "What do you want
here, Junius? Say it and your farewells. I prefer to breathe untainted
air."

A flush darkened Trent's face, but Pollinger laughed
raucously. "He don't love you, Junius. 'Tainted air,' he says. Ha!"

"If you did but know it," snapped Trent, "you fairly reek of
whisky, Pollinger! Have your say, for God's sake, and I will entertain
the luscious lady."

"The luscious lady has more diverting entertainments," said
Montclair, hobbling closer to Susan.

"Such as watching you totter about?" grinned Trent.

"Oh, no. But there are two slugs on the back step who offer
her more of interest than do you."

The glitter in Trent's eyes brought Susan quickly between
them. "You said you wished to speak with Mr. Montclair, Sir Dennis.
Pray do so. He has already been up for too long, and I am sure that his
uncle would not wish his progress impeded."

The baronet cleared his throat. "Warned you before,
Montclair," he brayed. "More'n once, in fact. Getting leg-shackled very
soon. Don't like other f-fellas interferin' with my lady. Leave her be
or—or I'll be 'bliged to take action."

"Shall you?" said Montclair, interested. "Well, I suppose
there's a first time for everything."

Junius sniggered. Pollinger, slow-witted and fuzzy with drink,
frowned, not quite comprehending the remark. "Toldya," he said, nodding
ponderously. "Getting leg-shackled, and—"

"Nonsense," said Montclair. "She wants no part of you,
Pollinger. Faith, but what lady would?"

Susan stared at him in mute astonishment. The man was a
regular Don Juan! Betrothed to Barbara, not above flirting with
herself, and apparently also pursuing this horrid man's lady!

Pollinger's face darkened. "See here! When I warn a fella—"

"Have a care, Poll," jeered Trent. "If he wants her for
himself, he'll likely give you a run for your money."

"Well, he ain't running very fast right at the moment, is he?"
Goaded, Pollinger gave an unexpectedly swift shove. Montclair
staggered. Trent sprang to support him and said a derisive, "Egad, but
you're a crude fellow, Poll. Don't you see this?" He giggled, and
kicked the left crutch away.

Inevitably, Montclair fell, but managed to land in the chair
behind him.

"Oh! For shame!" cried Susan, and started for him, but
grinning triumphantly, Pollinger was also advancing on the helpless
man. Montclair swung the crutch strapped to his right arm, and it
whacked into Pollinger's bulging waistcoat.

Pollinger said "Ooosh!" and sat on the floor, clutching his
middle and gulping.

Junius intercepted Susan, and said seductively, "Well, well,
look what I found."

"Let her—go, damn you," panted Montclair, trying to haul
himself from the chair.

Junius chuckled and held the struggling girl tighter. "Oh, but
I think not."

"That," murmured another voice, "is all too apparent."

Trent jerked as though he had been struck. His eyes shot to
the open door, and all the colour drained from his face.

Susan tore free and turned to the newcomer.

Tall, elegant, yet subtly menacing, Imre Monteil stood in the
doorway, with Martha hovering anxiously behind him. The Swiss bowed. "I
trust I am not
de trop
, dear lady?"

"Not in the least
de trop
, monsieur,"
she said with a grateful smile.

Monteil waved a dismissing hand, and Martha looked relieved
and went away.

"What d'you want here, Monteil?" demanded Junius with a
guarded air of resentment.

"I might ask the same of you, my dear. Were you to tell me you
came to see your cousin, I could only point out that poor Valentine
does not appear to be rendered ecstatic by your visit. And as for Mrs.
Henley…" He tapped the jewelled handle of his Malacca cane against his
lips, his unblinking gaze not for an instant leaving Trent. "I really
must urge that you do not again bother her." His voice was very gentle,
but something about his smile quite frightened Susan.

Junius muttered sullenly, "Pollinger came to warn my cousin
off, is all. From the start he has interfered with the betrothal. Makes
my papa deuced angry, I don't mind telling you. And my mama."

"Ah, I comprehend," purred Monteil. "So you are here to defend
your sister's prospective marriage, are you, dear Junius? Commendable,
but…"

Susan did not hear the rest of his sentence. Whatever did the
man mean? Barbara was Trent's sister, and she was betrothed to
Montclair. Was there another sister, then… ? Vaguely she was aware that
Junius was assisting Pollinger to his feet and that the Swiss gentleman
was escorting the two vanquished warriors from the room. Recovering her
wits, she saw Montclair trying to reach his crutch. "Oh, Valentine, you
were superb," she said, retrieving the other crutch and handing it to
him.

He felt that her praise was ill warranted, for he was sure
he'd made a poor showing in front of her, besides which he didn't like
the way Monteil was always hanging about Highperch. "Is that why you
look so flabbergasted?" he asked irritably, dragging himself upward.

"I was a trifle surprised," Susan admitted. "I'd not realized
the Trents had two daughters."

"They don't."

She stared at him. "But—but Barbara is betrothed to—to—"

"To Pollinger," he frowned. "And cannot abide the creature.
Small wonder. I'd thought you knew that, Mrs. Sue. Why d'you suppose I
kept urging Babs to run away with—" He paused, her stunned expression
bringing a belated comprehension. "By Jupiter! You thought Barbara—and
I
…
?" He threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "Oho, what a rogue
you must have judged me!"

"How pleasant it is to find you so merry, dear Valentine,"
smiled Imre Monteil, strolling back into the room.

Susan's emotions were rioting, and dreading lest she should
betray her joy, she said warmly, "I am most grateful for your help,
monsieur. You could scarce have arrived at a more opportune moment. Mr.
Trent was behaving disgracefully."

The Swiss was as delighted by her gratitude as Montclair was
revolted by it. "I am overjoyed to have been of service," he said,
patting her outstretched hand gently, "But I think your patient is
wearied and should retire for the nap—no?"

"Yes," snarled Montclair.

"Well, you cannot," said Susan, her heart as light as
thistledown. "You shall have to wait until the Bo'sun comes back and
can help you upstairs."

"Deemer will help me," he grunted, and added sourly,
"Doubtless, you two have much to—talk over."

"
Mais non
," said Monteil. "I shall myself
carry you, dear Valentine. Ah, but what a resentful glare! Is it that
you are afraid of being made to look helpless in front of the lady? I
assure you,
mon ami
—"

"Go—to the devil," flared Montclair, flushed and furious. And
wielding the crutches unusually well, he dragged himself from the room.

The Swiss spread his hands and shrugged ruefully. "Alas—it is
that I am clumsy, yes?"

"A little, perhaps." Susan looked after Montclair, her eyes
sparkling. "But he has a surfeit of pride, and you meant well,
monsieur." She saw Valentine pause in the corridor and start to turn to
them. "Indeed," she went on, smiling at the Swiss, "you came very
deedily to the rescue, sir."

Monteil's eyes took on the brilliant gleam that was alarming,
and even as she knew that she dared not flirt with this man (for
whatever reason), he stepped very close, seized her hand, and pressed
it to his lips. "To have been of some small service to the lovely widow
is its own reward," he murmured.

With a snort of disgust Montclair wrenched around and
proceeded towards the stairs, his crutches slamming so hard at the
floorboards that it was a wonder they did not go right through.

Susan's guilty hope that her Swiss admirer would soon depart
proved a vain one. The fact that she was not an unmarried damsel but a
widow with a child made it quite
convenable
for
her to entertain a gentleman in her home, and Monteil was aware of it.
He was not a difficult guest, for he was sophisticated, erudite, a
world traveller, and his conversation was fascinating. She suspected he
was going out of his way to entertain her, and after her earlier
encouragement, could scarcely blame the gentleman. As the afternoon
slipped away he still showed no inclination to leave, and with the
dinner hour not so far distant, she felt obliged to invite him to stay.
He accepted as though she'd offered him a priceless gift, and Deemer
showed him to a hastily prepared bedchamber where he might rest and
refresh himself.

Not ten minutes later, Valentine rang his bell, and Martha
brought Susan a message that if it was convenient, this evening he
would like to take dinner downstairs. 'He probably thinks it improper
that I should entertain the gentleman alone,' thought Susan, amused.
But she was relieved also, and retiring to the chamber she occupied
until her patient left, she dressed herself with great care.

She selected a gown of dark pink satin that she'd not worn
since Burke had taken her to a dinner party in honour of the betrothal
of Camille Damon and the Lady Sophia Drayton. That had been two years
ago, just before poor Burke's disgrace had burst upon them so
devastatingly. Waistlines had dropped since then, and the pink satin
still had the high-waisted look. She knew it became her, none the less,
and with her hair swept up into gleaming coils on her head, and little
curling tendrils beside her ears, she hoped their guests might not
notice the somewhat outdated style of the gown. She added an enamelled
clasp to her coiffure, and fastening the dainty garnet necklace that
was a legacy from her mother, felt as excited as if this was a very
special party. She discovered that she was singing softly, and she knew
very well why.

He was not betrothed to poor little Barbara Trent! Far from
bullying and abusing the girl into an unwanted marriage, he had fought
her parents in an effort to spare her. He loved Barbara, but as one
loves a dear cousin—not as a sweetheart.

Humming, Susan went down to the kitchen. Starry had left
strict instructions with Martha and Deemer before she left, and the
tantalizing aromas testified that dinner was well under way. Grateful
that she had been spared most of the work, Susan thanked the busy cooks
and went off to prepare the dining table. By the time she was finished
it looked charming, with fresh flowers brightening the big table and
crystal and silverware sparkling. Pleased, she went into the
withdrawing room to await her guests, hoping that Starry would get back
soon.