[Samuel Barbara] The Black Angel(Book4You) (8 page)

Cassandra arrived mid-afternoon, windblown from her ride. "Where are they?" she asked without preamble when Adriana, spying her horse and carriage from the music room, had rushed to let her in.

"Asleep, I'm afraid. They'll be down for supper."

Cassandra took off her hat and gave it to a servant. "How do they look, Riana? Are they well? Did they give any explanation of where they were, why they didn't write at all?"

"They look well," she said, taking the questions in order. "Gabriel is very thin, but swears he's not ill. And no, they gave no explanation."

They moved in silent agreement to the music room, close by the front doors. It had been their mother's favorite room, and seemed to be the place they migrated when something serious needed to be discussed. A harp sat in one corner, dusted daily though no one played it; and a variety of instruments in cases stood along the south wall. Adriana liked the room for its greens and golds; for the wallpaper she had helped her mother choose when she was seven or eight—a pattern of pheasants and stylized fruit in a cheerful blend; and for the relative quiet. She often came here to read.

She perched on a settee now, and took up the sewing she'd put down, waiting for Cassandra's restless energy to dissipate on her turns through the room. Which it finally did.

"I thought them dead," she said, and suddenly turned from her pacing so quickly her skirts washed forward with a swish. "But that will wait. How did you find your husband?"

"What do you mean? You saw him." She shrugged. "His nickname is apt."

"You know what I mean, Riana. Was he gentle with you? Do you suit?"

A faint heat edged her ears. Leave it to Cassandra to rush in where others would look away. "Those are private matters."

Cassandra made a soft noise of impatience. "Well, I'd agree that one wouldn't wish to stand out in the streets and shout it around, but between sisters—who've shared much more—it seems a logical question."

It was true they'd shared these secrets with one another. When Adriana, dazzled by the first heady attentions of Malvern, had needed to whisper her secrets to someone, it had been to Cassandra she'd gone, knowing instinctively that this sister, unconventional even in smallest childhood, would not judge her. And when Cassandra, devastated by the private cloddishness of a man who'd swept her off her feet within weeks of her debut, had needed a confidante and advice, it had been to Adriana she'd gone.

Still, what had transpired between her and Tynan last night seemed to Adriana too new, too raw, too
private
. She summoned a smile that hinted of things she didn't want to say and lifted one shoulder. "He's skilled, and lacks brutality. I can bear him well enough."

Cassandra's eyes widened. "So that's how it is." She shifted, her face sober again in that lightning way she had. "I don't like him, Riana. He's too false for you. Be wary."

"Of course." Adriana waved a hand. "I am no fool."

"Good." Suddenly, she sat. "Where is everyone?"

"Phoebe and Monique are plotting some enormous homecoming feast, and the girls were chattering enough to drive a magpie mad, so I sent them out riding."

Cassandra leaned forward, a posture of secretiveness. "There's more we should discuss, while the others are absent."

Adriana felt a stillness go through her. She put aside her sewing. "What is it?"

"The magistrate has learned of Julian's arrival. The ship docked three days ago, and some ratty consort of Malvern's mother happened to see our boys disembark." She paused. "There will be a summons within days."

"Where did you hear this? So quickly?"

Cassandra lifted her shoulders. "A gentleman called on me this morning to tell me. He came within moments of your messenger."

"I see." She took a breath, let it go. "Well, it is not unexpected."

"True." Cassandra stroked her palms together, her lips pursing as she watched her long white fingers. Then she raised her eyes. "The scandal will be resurrected, Riana, in every detail."

With effort, Adriana kept her expression blank, though she could not help the sudden, involuntary twitch of an eyelid. "Undoubtedly," she said. What else was there to say?

For a long moment, filled only with the sound of a clock ticking on the mantel, silence engulfed them. At last, Cassandra made an impatient noise. "Riana, honestly, do not let it cow you. Move to town. Dress in your finest, and lift your chin and—"

"And look down your haughty nose." The voice came from the doorway, edged with faint irony. "You do it so very well."

Tynan, of course. He stood there in tall boots and tight breeches that showed the length of his thighs, and that living wealth of hair was faintly mussed. Idly slapping his riding crop against his knee, he inclined his head. "Am I interrupting?" he asked, though it was plain from the quirk of his lips that he didn't particularly care if he was.

One could not say yes, of course, but Adriana was forming excuses for a private conversation, wishing to rid the room of that virile, heated scent that came from him—horse and coriander and male—but before she could speak, Cassandra leaped to her feet.

"Not at all, sir," she said, going forward to draw him into the room. She pulled her head back a little to look at him approvingly. "Her haughtiness is an excellent tool, I should think."

Adriana rolled her eyes at the congratulatory smiles they exchanged. Of course, they'd both think of brazening it out. An Irish rake in English society and a young widow who took pleasure in her collection of slightly outre and scandalous guests. "It's so easy for both of you," she said, and turned her head toward the window, gazing at the soft green day.

"What do you mean, Riana?" Cassandra asked. "We're cut from the same cloth, you and I."

"I'm not like you," she said quietly. She valued the opinions of others—perhaps too much. "I want pleasant afternoons spent in a tea shop, in the company of ladies. I want to shop for gloves and tsk over the antics of my children… and… take smug pride over my roses and play the harpsichord of a late evening." She turned. "I'll endure the scandal again if I must, but I'll do it from here."

Cassandra hooted with laughter. "Oh, Riana, you have such an imagination! Is this the lady fantasy? I haven't heard it before."

Piqued, Adriana drew herself up. "It's no fantasy, Cassandra. It's the life I was born to live."

Cassandra gave another hoot, slapping her hands down onto her skirts in a most unladylike fashion. A lock of her hair fell down and she brushed it away distractedly. "I've heard the lady pirate, and the lady adventurer and the lady explorer. This is the first I've heard of the Lady at Large in London!"

Adriana felt her cheeks burn. That was the trouble with sisters, she thought darkly. They remembered every stupid thing you ever said—and loved more than anything to drag them up again.

She couldn't bear to look at Tynan to see what effect this little hilarity was having upon him. No doubt he was as dazzled and admiring of Cassandra's beauty as he'd been on the steps yesterday. Adriana had clearly seen his hope that it would be her sister who'd be his bride.

A dozen responses rose in her throat, but in the end she couldn't utter any of them for the mingled embarrassment and fury in her throat, and she simply pushed by the both of them. "I'm going out for walk."

"Riana!" Cassandra cried. "Wait! I was only teasing you. I didn't—"

Adriana threw a murderous glance over her shoulder and made for the heavy oak doors. From a hook by the door, she grabbed her cloak, hearing Cassandra protest once more.

Outside, the fresh autumn air struck her face with its scents of leaf and mold and the promise of winter lurking in the shadows, and she dragged in a deep gulp of it as she strode across the green toward a path that looped around the estate.

"My lady!"

Adriana glanced over her shoulder to see Tynan, leaning into a little run to catch up to her. She picked up her pace; few could keep up with her long-legged stride when she wished to put them behind. And even those who could catch her—she glared at him from the corner of her eye as he came up beside her—would soon weary of her stony silence and energetic pace.

To his credit, he said nothing for the longest time, only walking beside her when vegetation would permit, falling behind when it did not. Adriana strode into the hills, ducking under low hanging branches and shifting her skirts automatically to keep them free of familiar catches. After a quarter of an hour, her skin grew warm and perspiration built on the back of her neck, and she was breathing hard.

But next to her Tynan kept up as easily as if they were out for a Sunday stroll. It was astonishingly annoying. At last she stopped at the crest of a hill to glare at him. "Are all Irishmen as hale as you?"

"Any that are as well-fed as I," he said. "Though those are few and far between." He looked around him alertly, shading his eyes for a moment, and Adriana was glad to see there was at least a sheen of perspiration over his brow. "It's rather remarkable, isn't it?"

Below spread the estate of Hartwood, the house and the stretches of lawn, and the hills rising gently all around. In the hazy distance was a glimpse of the village, just the church spire and the edge of the fields, fallow now that harvest was done. "Peaceful," she said. "Which is why I'm loath to leave it on a fool's errand."

"Your sister meant you no harm."

She tsked. "Do not presume to tell me the motives of my own sister, sir." She whirled and began to walk again. "If she had wished me no harm, she would have kept my secrets to herself."

A low, deep chuckle rolled from him. He bent from the waist gracefully to pluck a tall stem of grass and righted himself. "There is no more irritating human in the world than our siblings, is there? They know us all too well."

"Have you siblings?"

A perplexed shadow crossed his eyes. "I did. A twin brother."

A twin! The thought of two such faces in the world was a little unnerving. "Identical?"

"In face, but not in spirit. He was a much nobler man than I." A stile dividing a hedgerow stopped them, and Adriana watched the sorrow come on Tynan's face like the swift descent of a winter night. "Far more."

Against her will, Adriana wanted to know more, but he seemed to shake away the shadows, and turned his vivid gaze on her. "He despaired of what he called my sensual habits," he said, and lifted a wicked brow, flashing that dimple in his cheek with the effortlessness of long practice. "Shall I illustrate?"

Riana's lips quirked into a half smile before she could stop them. She held up a hand. "No, thank you."

He helped her over the stile and they walked in a peaceful silence to the spot Adriana had in mind, the deep shadows of an ancient tree, its trunk as wide across as three men. Below it grew a thick bed of tiny tangled daisies and grass. She sat, smoothing her skirts beneath her, and Tynan settled beside her, elbows resting on his uplifted knees.

"You'll have to go to London, you know," he said finally. "You can't send your brothers out there alone, when it was in your defense they acted."

"
Must
we discuss this?"

"Aye." He fell backward, taking his weight on one elbow as he looked up at her.

Adriana found her eyes sliding over the fall of his hair, thick and rich looking, barely caught by the thong he'd used to tie it back. A faint roar rose in her ears, induced by her embarrassment over the subject, and the whole made her speak sharply. "I don't see why."

"Well, for one, 'tis possible I might be able to help you, if you'll let me."

"You?"

For a moment he stared out toward the soft green view, and a faint hint of red stained the high plane of his cheekbones. He stood abruptly, brushed grass from his elbows. "Right. I am mistaken."

Adriana reached for him, and succeeded only in catching the hem of his coat, something she would never have ordinarily done. But now the roar in her ears was worsened by pride, and by embarrassment that she'd been rude to a man who appeared to only want to be kind. "Please wait."

He made a soft sound, a bitter whisper of a laugh. "For what purpose? Shall we sit here and think of more ways to humiliate each other? It seems we have already discovered the way to pain for each of us."

"No. No, I am sorry. I did not mean—well, I did. I meant to be rude because I was humiliated. The entire subject offers no end of humiliation for me, and—" She took a breath. "I apologize."

He gestured with one hand. "Let's walk, my lady. 'Tis often easier to speak when the feet are in motion."

She nodded, surprised when he held out one lean, long-fingered hand to help her to her feet. Accepting the gesture of sympathy, she took it, and had a fleeting sense of tensile strength, not only in his hands, but through the whole of him. "Thank you."

For a little while they followed the slim path that led over the crest of the hill into a small copse of hardwoods. Again the simple act of moving seemed to dissipate the tension Adriana felt. She squared her shoulders. "It is not my usual way to indulge in insults. I do most sincerely apologize."

"Accepted." A beat of hesitation, then: "Will you tell me how it happened with your lover?"

"How it happened? I made a fool of myself with a rake, and when he put me aside, my brother killed him in a duel."

"Not that." He looked at her. "Did you fall in love?"

She felt his eyes on her face and lifted her chin, "I thought so at the time."

"And is it, perhaps, that wound that still lingers a little?"

"No!" Adriana exclaimed. She hated the tiny, knife-thin slice that went through her at his suggestion. "What pains me," she said clearly, "is the utter disregard I displayed for my father, or the repercussions my actions would have upon my family. I acted heedlessly, selfishly—and hurt a great many people that I love in that heedlessness."

"Mmm."

He didn't speak again for several long minutes, and Adriana found herself watching him. He walked tall and straight, with a certain jaunty set to his head. As they went along, he touched things they passed, trailing his fingers over the delicate head of a foxglove, across the bumpy bark of a tree, along the crumbling edge of a brick wall, left from some unimaginably distant time. And as he touched, he looked. Looked up to admire the fading leaves of an arching oak, to watch a sparrow sail through the blue sky, to glance back over his shoulder at something his fingers had not quite absorbed.