Simply Scandalous (14 page)

"I am addressed properly as Lord Swale," he informed her sullenly.

"Yes," she sniffed. "I expect you are."

"You may address me as my Lord Marquess, your
lordship, or simply, my lord."

"And so I would," she replied, "if I had any intention of addressing you properly."

He glared at her almost in disbelief. No one had
ever spoken to him with such impertinence. Most
people were afraid of rousing his anger. Even her insufferable brother Sir Benedict had shown deference to his rank, if not to his person.

"It is a courtesy title, or so I understand," she said,
calmly winding her yarn. "I have decided you deserve no such courtesy. I shall call you Swale if I like.
I shall call you Ginger if I like-"

"Will you, by God!" he said violently. "Ginger, by
God! If you were a man, madam, I would make you
sorry for that remark!"

"Indeed, I shall call you Ginger until you are dead,"
she said, smiling. "It will be good for you. Well, perhaps it will be good for you, Ginger," she amended.
"Either you will learn to control your temper, Ginger,
or you will die of apoplexy."

"I should dearly like to break your neck," he said
bitterly. "If you dare call me Ginger again, I shall
break your neck! You should know I flattened the last
fellow who tried to call me Ginger."

"Would you prefer Carrots?" she inquired.

"Now look here, you harpy! " he said forcefully, if not
eloquently. "If you wish to trade insults, you must
allow me to tell you that you have the conduct of a
Barbary ape!"

"How dare you!" she said, her eyes flashing and a
crimson stain appearing in her cheeks.

"Quiet!" he growled.

"Don't you tell me to be quiet," she snapped. "You
orangutan! "

"Shut up then, if you prefer," he said roughly. "You
obviously have not communicated with your brother
Sir Benedict. If you had, he would have told you I am
innocent. Which I am."

Juliet recoiled. "You, Ginger? Innocent? Ha!"

"Ha, yourself!" he wittily rejoined. "All this nonsense
about a broken arm. When I want a man's arm broken, I shall break it myself, my girl. I don't go
about hiring people to do my dirty work."

"Is that so?" she said sharply. "If it was not you who
hired them, then who?"

"Ask your brother," he returned. "Sir Benedict will
tell you it was Lord Redfylde."

"Lord Redfylde! That is ... that is vile slander," she
said, flinging a ball of yarn at him.

He caught it and threw it back at her.

"Lady Redfylde," she said, catching the yarn and
throwing it back as hard as she could, "happens to be
the cousin of a dear friend of mine. How dare you
accuse her husband!"

"He hates me," Swale explained, dodging the yarn.

"I expect everyone hates you," she answered. "I
certainly do."

"Your brother Cary beat him in a race."

"Cary beats everyone," she scoffed. "Except you, you
snake! " She snatched up another ball of yarn and prepared to pitch it at him.

"Redfylde wagered ten thousand pounds that I
would beat your brother's chestnuts."

Juliet's arm froze in midair. "What did you say?"

"You heard me right," said Swale.

"But that's as good as throwing money away," she
protested. "Ten thousand pounds! Unless-" She sat
down abruptly, and her hand fluttered up to her
mouth, which had fallen open.

"Unless he knew somehow that your brother would
have to forfeit." Swale scooped up the ball of yarn she
had flung at him earlier and returned it to her. It
struck her on the tip of her patrician nose, but she
did not notice.

"But-but he is a marquess!" she protested.

"So am I," he reminded her. "You had no trouble
believing it of me."

"But they said you sent them," she wailed.

"Heaven forfend a murderous brute should lie," he
scoffed.

Juliet was shattered. Bad enough if she were wrong,
but to be obliged to make an apology to this redhaired, snub-nosed maniac-! Her soul withered at
the thought.

She narrowed her eyes and studied him for a long
moment. Except for his rumpled clothing, he might
have just stepped off a Viking ship a thousand years
ago, his face as hideous as any emblem those barbarians used to paint on their shields to frighten
peaceful English farmers. "Do you swear you had
nothing to do with the crime?" she demanded.

"You'd like me to swear, wouldn't you, Miss Harpy?
Well, I wouldn't swear to my own father. I see no
reason I should swear to someone whose good opinion means so little to me."

Her cheeks were bright red. "If I have wronged you,
Ginger," she said slowly with a little toss of her head,
"I am sure I am sorry."

"If!" He seized upon the insulting word. "If you
have wronged me! Why, I ought to-!"

He advanced on her, his eye gleaming, and involuntarily, she shrank back. He tore the basket of yarn
from her hands and flung it with all his strength across
the room. The crash that followed burst upon the
ears like an enemy cannonade. Whirling around, he
saw that the basket had smashed the glass of a large,
handsome display cabinet. Its contents, which appeared to be nothing more than useless bits of china,
were likewise ruined. Yarn dangled from the shelves,
and the basket fell to the floor with a shuddering crash, pulling something large and brightly painted
with it.

Juliet gasped in horror, her eyes almost starting
from her head.

Swale had imagined the situation could be rectified
by little more than the sum of thirty pounds, but
now he saw it was more serious. Juliet's face went from
crimson to ashen, and for several moments, she could
not speak.

"That was Cousin Wilfred's shepherdess collection," she finally gasped in disbelief. "He's very fond
of those shepherdesses!"

Swale groaned. His own father collected porcelain
and was excessively attached to his china bits.

"Cousin Wilfred," said Juliet with satisfaction, not
to mention glee, "is going to murder you, Ginger!"

The sound of an enemy cannonade cannot go unnoticed in a well-ordered house, and it was not long
before Swale and Juliet were joined by other members
of the household. Mrs. Cary's hysterical shrieks and
Cynthia's tears convinced Swale he had destroyed
the most treasured icons of the Vicar's collection. The
Vicar himself confirmed this a few moments later.

He had been strolling in his garden and practicing
his sermon on Brotherly Love, when he heard the
crash. It did not sound to him like an enemy cannonade. It sounded to him like a clap of thunder.
Eyeing the innocent blue sky nervously, he headed for
his shelter. There he was greeted by the lamentations of his wife. He feared the worst.

"What is it, my dear?" he cried, rushing into the hall.
"Is it one of the children?"

Mrs. Cary was unable to speak. She could only shriek
and point.

Dr. Cary peered curiously into the little drawing
room. He saw Juliet and his daughter, pale and roundeyed. He saw a big, strange man with hair like an unkempt fire. Stepping into the room, he saw the ruins of his collection. He gaped at it in utter disbelief. "No,"
he cried bleakly. "Not my Dresden shepherdess! Oh,
my sweet Chlorinda!"

Swale cleared his throat nervously. His temper had
landed him in many a tight spot, but none so tight as
this. Being banned from White's for breaking Stacy
Calverstock's nose had been a pleasant experience
next to this agony. The little, round clergyman with
the spectacles obviously was broken with shock. The
demise of his Chlorinda had affected him as profoundly as the sudden death of a child.

"I beg your pardon, sir. I will gladly pay for the
damage," Swale began contritely in a voice so diminished that Juliet was astonished. He seemed genuinely to understand the Vicar's anguish.

Dr. Cary turned on him, his eyes glittering with
unshed tears. "Who the devil are you, sir?" he demanded. "Is this your doing? So you will gladly pay for
the damage, will you? By God! Do you think money
will compensate me? This collection represents for me
the work of a lifetime! Only the Duke of Auckland has
a finer collection of china shepherdesses!"

The name of Auckland had the effect of a powerful tonic on Mrs. Cary. "But, my dear," she interjected, "this is the Duke's son! It is Lord Swale himself,
come to see Juliet."

"The Duke of Auckland!" The Vicar's eyes glowed.
"The Duke of Auckland!"

"Yes," said Swale modestly. "He is my father. So
you see, my dear fellow, I enter into your feelings on
this tragic occasion. No one loves a porcelain shepherdess as much as his Grace of Auckland."

"So much so," Dr. Cary said grimly, "that he sends
you here to smash my Chlorinda! It is infamous, sir!
I shall take steps, sir! Steps!" He made as though to pound his pulpit and seemed rather surprised to
find he was not in church.

All traces of contrition disappeared from Swale's
face instantly. "What?" he growled. "You dare to
accuse my father of ... of sending me about the
place smashing Chlorindas? Say what you like about
me, sir, but I defy you to speak ill of my father! "

"I don't speak ill of him! " snapped the Reverend.
"Indeed, now that my shepherdesses are smashed, I
should send my compliments to his Grace-he now
is undisputedly in possession of the finest collection
of china shepherdesses in all England!"

A less volatile man might have withstood this remark
with the exercise of stringent self-control. He might
have told himself that Dr. Cary's pain had temporarily
driven him mad or some such thing. Swale made a fist
instead, a big fist the size of a small ham. It was only
Juliet's swift action that saved the Vicar from a very
thorough flattening.

"Indeed, it is all my fault, Cousin Wilfred! " she said
quickly.

"You, Juliet?"

"Yes," she said nervously, unable to meet either
his lordship's baleful glare or the Vicar's bewildered
disappointment. "I'm afraid I playfully tossed my
basket to his lordship, thinking he would catch it. But
he did not," she concluded in almost a whisper.

"You tossed your basket to him, Cousin Juliet?" Dr.
Cary said incredulously.

"Playfully, yes," said Juliet, looking down at her
hands. She was not an accomplished liar, and her
cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

"Playfully," he repeated dully. "Playfully, yes. But
what is his lordship doing here? If he has not come to ... to view my collection?" he added, choosing his
words tactfully.

"I told you, my dear," Mrs. Cary whispered, tugging
at his arm. "His lordship has come to see Juliet. He
has something particular to say to her."

"He has something particular to say to her, does
he?"

"Yes, my dear," said Mrs. Cary with speaking looks.

"Oh!" cried Dr. Cary, blushing like a girl as comprehension dawned. "Oh, I see! His lordship has
something particular he wishes to say to Cousin Juliet,
does he? And she playfully tossed her basket to him?
Well, well! Let us put all this unpleasantness behind
us, my lord," he said, thrusting out his hand.

Swale shook it reluctantly. Somehow, he had liked
the little fellow better when he was shouting.

"Take her out into the shrubbery," the Vicar advised. "This room is not a fit place to-"

He broke off, blushing again. "All this broken
glass. Juliet, take his lordship into the shrubbery. And
you must come to dinner, my lord! Come to dinner.
I insist."

Swale was ready to decline when it occurred to
him how much Miss Wayborn must wish for him to
decline also. That lady he would never willingly oblige.
"You honor me, sir," he said instead. "I thank you."
He faced Juliet's frown with one of his own.

"This way to the shrubbery," she said curtly, laying
her hand on his arm. "You great, priceless ass," she
added under her breath.

With self-control he had not known he possessed,
he managed not to shake her hand from his arm until
they reached the Vicar's garden.

"I expect you would like to finish your tantrum by
uprooting the rhododendrons," she remarked airily. "I wish you would not. If anything, Cousin Wilfred is
fonder of them than he is of china shepherdesses."

"I expect you think I ought to thank you," he retorted. "Rest assured, I don't care to be under your protection, and if it didn't mean exposing a lady for a liar,
I would not hesitate to tell your cousin the truth!"

She flushed. "So now I'm a lady, am I? I thought I
was a harpy."

He shrugged. "You know best what you are."

Juliet folded her arms and faced him with a scowl.
"If you think I did it to protect you, Ginger, you are
mad as well as rude," she said. "I was only thinking of
your poor father! "

He glared back at her. "You like my father, do you?
An old man in a powdered wig with scarcely a drop
of red blood left in him? Hold him in high esteem,
do you?"

"Why shouldn't I? Don't you hold him in high
esteem?"