Rogue's Reward (9 page)

Eleanor bit her tongue as Diana stalked away. Mr. Campbell must be mad. He had gone running after her parasol even though he knew that the roof might give way beneath him. It was splendidly dashing, of course, and it meant that he knew it didn’t matter if his boots further damaged the roof, but didn’t danger mean anything to him?

She remembered how the wind had blown his dark hair, his laugh as he leaped to the barn from the ridge top of the cottages. No, he had liked it. The man enjoyed a physical challenge and had the most conceited faith in his own athletic ability. He’d never believed for a moment that he might be hurt.
Nor did he care if I was worried
, she thought fiercely. Then she shook her head. It seemed that ever since she had met Mr. Campbell, she must constantly find herself lost in confusion about him. Only one thing seemed clear. She was angry and it was his fault.

“Good day, my lady.”

Eleanor looked around. Old Frank Garth stood at her elbow and had just doffed his cap. Lady Diana had walked over to the cottages and was talking with Mrs. Pottage.

“Why, good day, Mr. Garth,” she replied with a smile. “Are you just returning from your work?”

“Aye, I am that. Did you see Mr. Campbell and give him my message?”

“Yes, I did. Why didn’t he come to see you himself?”

The old countryman and the young lady fell into step together and began to walk into Little Tanning.

“Well, he will, no doubt, before he leaves,” Mr. Garth said. “He did pay his compliments to the missus already. But he’s a lot on his plate, that young man, besides visiting with an old gaffer, and I’ve been out in the lanes, not so easy to find.”

“You’ve known him since he was a boy, haven’t you, Mr. Garth?”

“Aye. He was always a good lad—a bit wild, but a heart of gold.”

How could Leander Campbell have been so deceptive that none of these people had seen through him?

“And were you always a hedger?”

They stopped where they could watch the workmen putting up the pantiles. Frank Garth narrowed his eyes to watch as they neatly repaired the roof.

“Oh, aye! I never amounted to much. But my brother went for a ’prentice to Norwich and learned to be a fine finish carpenter. He could build cabinets and furniture and such like, pretty as a picture. Of course, he never worked much around here, except for that little project for Major Crabtree.”

Eleanor was paying only scant attention, for her mind was still filled with her indignation about Mr. Campbell.

“What was that?” she asked politely.

“Well, the major wanted some secret cubbyholes put in behind the paneling in the library at Deerfield. My brother told me about it before he died. He was proud as a peacock about his work. You’d never know the places were there, he told me, until you twisted the roses. Then the panels slide back and there’s your cupboard, neat as a pin.”

And suddenly Eleanor was passionately interested. There were secret cupboards at Deerfield, where a person could hide things—like letters!

“Did Mr. Campbell know of these secret cupboards, Mr. Garth?”

“Well, now, I’m sure he must have done. Even when he was just a lad he liked to learn from my brother, or any of us. Lee Campbell could weave down or trim out a capital piece of hedgerow, if he’d a mind to it, I dare say.”

The old man tipped his hat and walked off, leaving Eleanor standing in the lane with her heart in her mouth. If Leander Campbell had stolen her mother’s letters from the major, he may have hidden them in one of the secret compartments in the library at Deerfield. What if she could recover them?

Moments later, Diana rejoined her and slipped her arm through Eleanor’s.

“Old Frank Garth’s taken a liking to you,” she said with a smile. “He’s pretty close as a rule with his affection, but the fellow’s a great judge of character.”

Except where it comes to your brother! Eleanor thought. He’s got even the honest old farm worker wrapped around his little finger. Mr. Campbell is a despicable rogue. If it weren’t for my mother, I’d never give him the time of day again.

But an idea had already taken hold in Eleanor’s imagination.
Virtus Actonorum in Actione Consistit
, indeed. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, she would act.

* * *

Deerfield lay in a pretty little park. No expense had been spared to make it into an idyllic gentleman’s countryseat. The gardens were extensively landscaped in the modern style and an army of gardeners was obviously in invisible residence. Their ceaseless labor maintained the appearance of an untamed wilderness suitable for ladies and gentlemen to admire in absolute safety.

The grounds also boasted a Greek temple, an orangery, and an impeccably kept stable.

Diana led Eleanor through the home wood toward the back of the house.

It was totally unexceptionable that they should call. Lady Acton preferred to remain indoors today, but she was much recovered and sent her sincerest thanks for the gentlemen’s concern, as expressed by the major the previous evening. Diana and Eleanor could assure them all that Lady Acton had taken no permanent ill effect from her faintness in the church.

At least, that was what they would say.

Eleanor thought very bitterly that her mother might well have a permanent problem, unless her own plan worked. Unhappily, it might be some time before she would get the chance to put it into action. Meanwhile she would have to try to be polite to the detested Mr. Campbell.

How was she to manage when she saw him?

The girls reached the edge of the woods. The charming brick house smiled at them over its lawns—which was when Eleanor discovered that in spite of all her firm resolutions, she was far from indifferent to Leander Campbell’s charisma.

The long patch of sward that lay behind Deerfield had been set up as a cavalry exercise ground. While Walter Feveril Downe cheered from the sidelines, Major Crabtree and Leander Campbell were practicing their horsemanship. Eleanor had never seen anything like it.

Mr. Campbell was mounted on a black charger, very different from the simple cob he had ridden bareback the previous day. The horse rippled with muscle. Its shining coat was dark with sweat and flecked with little beads of foam from its mouth.

The major was similarly mounted on a large bay.

Each man held a lance. As Walter threw out inflated pigskins, they took turns galloping like Apaches down the field and impaling the innocent objects on their spears.

The major was accurate, fast, and solid. But Mr. Campbell rode with a dash and flair that sent Eleanor’s heart into wild palpitations. At the side of the field, a series of jumps had been set up to make an elaborate obstacle course. With his lance in one hand and the reins in the other, he set his mount at the poles and cleared them all in a blurring display of agility.

“Come, Major!” he cried, laughing. “I’ll wager you five guineas you’ll not make it through one more time.”

“Damn you, Campbell! You’ll never beat me at my own game, sir.”

The major spun his bay. His face was red and his mouth was set into a grim line under the splendid mustaches. He managed to clear the poles, but it was clear he was laboring.

Mr. Campbell merely laughed and challenged him again. Walter ran out to raise the height of the last element. It was almost above his head.

“What’s he doing?” Eleanor asked. “Your brother deliberately mocks the major. It’s disgraceful.”

Diana looked genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know. It isn’t like Lee, truly, to show up someone else or deliberately make anyone uncomfortable. Major Crabtree is getting really angry. Oh, Eleanor!”

She clutched at Eleanor’s hand as Leander Campbell rode at the jumps again. The black gathered its haunches and propelled itself into the air. Every jump was cleared and he still sat the horse as carelessly as if he sat at dinner.

“Now, Major! Top that, if you will.”

“You’re mad, sir!” the major cried.

He pulled viciously at his horse’s mouth to spin the bay around. Then he raised his lance and brought it down across the last jump. The shaft shattered and sent a shower of splinters into the air.

“I’ll try your swordsmanship instead, you young puppy,” he shouted, and drew his blade from the scabbard.

Mr. Campbell tossed his lance to Walter and galloped his horse past the major. He was also wearing a cavalry saber, but he hadn’t drawn it. Major Crabtree slashed at him as he passed.

Diana gave a little scream. Eleanor put her arm around her friend’s waist and pulled her further back into the trees.

“Don’t distract them,” she whispered. “They haven’t seen us. For God’s sake, I think your brother’s gone insane.”

For Leander Campbell had turned his horse and was once again putting himself in the way of the major’s blade. Sir Robert stood in the stirrups and struck at him with the entire force of his body. Yet the younger man wasn’t there to receive the blow. He had dropped to one side of his saddle, so the steel whistled harmlessly through the air.

Once again he recovered his seat and turned his horse.

“Who on earth trained you, Sir Robert?” he mocked. “Attila the Hun?”

The major turned purple. “I was trained in the King’s Own as an officer and a gentleman, sir. Damn the day I rescued a bastard from an Irish bog! I thought to see you raised as a member of the English gentry, but your mother was a slut—and blood will out.”

The black crouched back on its haunches, bent its glossy neck, and reared a little. “Don’t let the shade of Ian Campbell of Blairgour hear you malign his pure Highland blood, sir. My mother was merely a woman. Anyway, she didn’t teach me to ride and to fight—you did!”

He drew his own sword.

The riders clashed in the center of the field. The major’s sword swung and struck, but this time the other blade was there to meet it.

“Try harder, Sir Robert,” Mr. Campbell said. “You strike no better than some soft city fellow. Poor Manton Barnes could have done better.”

The major seemed blind with fury. As the horses backed and spun, his sword hammered at Mr. Campbell’s defenses.

“I can’t bear it!” Diana clutched hard at Eleanor’s arm. “Crabtree’s going to kill him! And Lee isn’t even fighting back properly. He could disarm the major if he wanted to—I know he could. Why doesn’t Walter do something?”

“Because this is absolutely lunatic,” Eleanor replied. “There is nothing, short of praying for a sudden downpour of rain, that anyone can do about it. If Mr. Downe tried to stop them now, he’d only be mowed down.”

Indeed, the urbane and charming major seemed to have undergone a complete change of character. He seemed overwhelmed by anger and on the verge of completely losing control.

Mr. Campbell was retreating under the onslaught. His mount backed away from the bay as the major hacked at him, until his blade flew from his hand to be lost in the grass. The major’s sword slashed again. The younger man vaulted cleanly from his horse’s back, then dropped and rolled to avoid the deadly hooves as Sir Robert jerked his bay around and the horse reared.

When the major also leaped from his mount, it was to raise his sword over a man spread-eagled and apparently helpless on his back.

The loose horses galloped toward the stables, where the major’s liveried grooms caught them up.

Diana tore from Eleanor’s arms and rushed out onto the field.

Walter’s astonishment and distress when he saw Diana was obvious. He ran to intercept her.

Ignoring her own advice, Eleanor raced toward the figures on the ground. She could no longer hear what they were saying, for their exchange was now taking place in hissed whispers. But while the major might think he had the other man at his mercy, in his blind fury he hadn’t seen what she had: Leander Campbell’s outstretched hand now firmly grasped the hilt of his weapon where it had fallen into the grass.

If the major tried to thrust home his saber, Mr. Campbell would be able to intercept the blow. He might appear to be beaten, but his defeat was voluntary.

It’s all a game to him, she thought wildly, people’s emotions, people’s lives—even his own. Diana’s brother is a consummate rogue.

At that moment, he glanced up to meet Eleanor’s eyes. She stopped dead, her heart filled with rage and distress.

“I yield, Sir Robert,” he said instantly. “Forgive my ill humor and worse tongue. You’re a damned fine swordsman, sir. And a true gentleman—too true no doubt to butcher me as I deserve.”

The major glanced around at Eleanor, then straightened and put away his blade.

“No harm done, Campbell!” he said with bluff good humor, though it obviously cost him some effort to swallow his anger. “You gave me a damned fine workout, sir. Made me feel young again. Now what do you say to some refreshment?”

Mr. Campbell sat up. The thin April sunshine caressed the planes of his face. Shadows danced in his disordered hair. He was smiling, but not as if with genuine satisfaction.

“As you have noticed, we have female company to grace your drawing room, Major. No doubt the ladies would like some tea after witnessing our shocking display. Lady Eleanor is as pale as a ghost.”

Sir Robert bowed to her. He was still breathing hard and there was a strange glitter in his eyes. Perhaps he still couldn’t be certain of his control over his emotions, for he did not offer to escort the ladies into the house. Instead, he merely called out that he would go in and have the servants prepare tea.

Meanwhile, Walter had taken Diana’s hand and was leading her inside through the French windows.

Eleanor faced Mr. Campbell alone on the grass. He met her gaze frankly enough, but the violet eyes were unreadable.

“‘Why, what should be the fear?’” he quoted softly. “‘I do not set my life at a pin’s fee.’”

“I am not afraid,” Eleanor said. “I am angry.”

He stood up, then bent to catch up the saber and thrust it into his scabbard.

“No, because you knew I was in no danger, didn’t you?”

“I don’t give a tinker’s whistle whether you live or die, Mr. Campbell. Why were you baiting the poor major like that? I never saw such a mean, ungentlemanly display in all my life.”