He rose to his feet with the help of his cane. To remain on the ground while she stood would be remarkably rude.
"I am sorry," she told him, with what sounded like real remorse. "I do not wish to cause you discomfort."
Brahm stretched his leg. On a day such as this it hardly hurt at all. "No discomfort, my lady. I am simply an ungraceful lout nowadays. This is nothing a short walk won't remedy."
She smiled prettily, and for a moment she looked very much like Eleanor. "Perhaps you will allow me to accompany you in apology then?"
He arched a brow. She wanted to walk with him? Definitely a weapon hidden somewhere. Regardless of the potential danger to his person, he offered her his arm. "It would be an honor."
They strolled leisurely through the blanket of thick, green grass. Arabella shielded herself from the sun with a lacy pink parasol, the brim of which managed to shade Brahm's eyes as well. He did not speak, but simply enjoyed the day and waited for the woman next to him to make her attack.
They neared the edge of the hill, where they could see the entire valley laid out before them, including Lord Burrough's estate. Nestled in a bed of green, the stone mansion was the height of picturesque.
Arabella released his arm. "I wish to apologize for myself and my sisters, Lord Creed."
He turned his head to gaze at her. Her pale eyes were filled with oddly touching sincerity. "There is no need to apologize to me for wanting to protect your sister."
She smiled faintly as she turned her attention back to the vista before them. "That is very good of you, but no matter how noble our intentions, our methods definitely left something to be desired."
Brahm shrugged. "Decorum has no place where family is involved."
She regarded him thoughtfully, with a smile that seemed begrudgingly warm. "That is an interesting notion."
His lips lifted on the right side. "I find I am positively brimming with such notions lately."
She chuckled at that. A moment of comfortable silence passed between them, in which they both seemed to enjoy the sun, the view, and the company.
"I want to like you, Lord Creed." Her parasol twirled in her hands.
He nodded in acquiescence. "I would like that, my lady."
Her expression suddenly turned serious, almost plaintive. "Please do not hurt my sister."
Such a heartfelt plea deserved nothing but total reverent honesty. "I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to do as you ask."
She smiled— brightly enough to rival the sun. If only Eleanor would grace him with such a smile.
They turned back to the picnic then, walking arm in arm, just as slowly as they had when they left.
Ladies Dumont and Merrott watched their approach with barely concealed interest. "Oh my dear," Lady Dumont spoke. "We began to despair that you would never bring him back for the rest of us."
Brahm forced what he hoped was a charming smile. How could Wynthrope have had an affair with this woman? No doubt his former thief of a brother had robbed the woman while sharing her bed. Good Lord, he hoped whatever Wyn stole, it had made him a lot of blunt. Lady Dumont was about as subtle and attractive as a nest of vipers. True, her form was somewhat pleasing, but her personality ruined whatever charms she might possess rather quickly. There was nothing wrong with a woman playing the seducer, but there was a time and place for such behavior.
Arabella was all grace and ease. "Despair no longer, ladies. He is returned."
"Apple, Lord Creed?"
Brahm stared at the red fruit in Lady Dumont's hand. "No thank you, my lady. I have made it a habit to never accept fruit from beautiful women. It is the one lesson from the Bible I adhere to."
Lady Dumont giggled at his flattery of her appearance, his lack of sincerity unnoticed.
"I wonder if you would accept if Lady Eleanor was the one offering?" Lady Merrott's gaze was shrewd as she asked the question.
Eleanor, who sat only a few feet away on a blanket with her sisters, lifted her head at the sound of her name. Brahm smiled at her over the heads of the other ladies. Her gaze was questioning as it met his.
"Would you try to tempt me with an apple, Lady Eleanor?" he asked, letting her in on the absurd joke.
Eleanor waved a careless hand. "La, no."
Brahm covered his chest with a hand in a wounded gesture. Of course he wasn't truly offended by her dismissal. He could tell she wasn't any more serious than he. "See, Lady Merrott, Lady Eleanor has no desire to offer me fruit."
"If I remember correctly," Eleanor spoke again, drawing all their attention, "I would have better luck tempting you with cake, my lord."
Laughter erupted from Brahm's chest. Eleanor's bland expression had never once changed, nor had her disinterested tone, but her delivery of the remark was so wonderfully funny to him that she might as well have tickled his ribs as she said it. Even more pleasing than her well-placed jab at Lady Merrott's attempt to embarrass her was that Eleanor remembered how much he liked cake. It was a Ryland weakness.
"You have me at a disadvantage Lady Eleanor," he remarked with a grin, "remembering my deficiency so well."
"Oh, you have more than one weakness, do you not, Lord Creed?" It was Lady Dumont who spoke. Her tone was light, but her meaning was clear, as was the displeasure in her eyes. She did not like his favoring Eleanor over her.
"Of course he does," Eleanor responded loftily before he could. "He is a man. Were not you and Lady Merrott listing off the various weaknesses of that sex yesterday at tea?"
How innocently she asked the question, knowing full well that the gentlemen gathered nearby would jump on it. Suddenly, it was the ladies Dumont and Merrott who were the center of attention and not Brahm— and not Eleanor.
Brahm flashed his savior a grateful smile and was rewarded with a conspiratorial one in return. His heart rolled at the sight of it. He'd gladly brave Lady Dumont's barbs for the rest of his life if Eleanor would only continue to smile at him. Suddenly he didn't think her protective instincts were a flaw in her character at all. He rather liked them when they were directed at him.
He would have gone to her if he could have— if it wouldn't have caused tongues to wag, and if Lord Burrough hadn't chosen that moment to call out to him.
"Come play horseshoes," the old man commanded. "We need another."
Brahm did as he was bid. After all, the earl was going to be his father-in-law one day if things went as he wished.
For a man who seemed so ill when Brahm first arrived, Lord Burrough had taken part in a surprising number of activities. True, he wasn't the picture of health and haleness, being a little pale and tiring easily, but he was nowhere near death's door. No doubt he had used his "illness" to persuade Eleanor into allowing the party. There was no other way she would have agreed to being offered up like a broodmare at market.
Yet was that her father's intention? The more time Brahm spent around the older man, the more he began to suspect that Burrough's motives were far more clandestine. The old man rarely bothered with any of the other bachelors, only him. Burrough only took part in the activities Brahm himself participated in.
The old man had set this whole thing up to reunite Brahm and Eleanor. The other bachelors were nothing more than a diversion to keep Eleanor from realizing the truth. Brahm wasn't certain how he knew this, but he knew in his heart he was correct. He knew it the instant his gaze met the old earl's and he saw the pleasure and acceptance there.
He joined the group of gentlemen and accepted the horseshoe Burrough offered him.
"It has been a long time since I played," he cautioned. "I will no doubt give you all something to chuckle at."
"You cannot be any worse than Birch," Lord Burrough remarked gruffly. "He spends most of his time trying to keep from getting his hands dirty."
There were chuckles all around, and Brahm took aim with the shoe in his hand. Leaning forward, he pitched the shoe toward the goal. It landed with a decided thud around the post.
Lord Burrough slapped him on the back. "You will do, my boy, you will do."
Brahm knew the praise was for so much more than his skill at the game.
They had only been playing for a few moments when Brahm was approached by two bachelors— Birch and Faulkner. They stood beside Locke, watching as Lord Burrough lined up his shot. Brahm watched them, his heart skipping uncomfortably at the sight of the silver flask in Locke's hand.
Unfortunately the men noticed him watching. Locke offered him the flask. "Drink, Creed?"
Brahm stared at the flask for a moment, his mouth moistening with longing. Was it politeness or malice that had prompted the offer? "No thank you."
Locke made a scoffing noise. "There's no one looking. No one will know."
That wasn't the point. "I will know."
The dark-haired man shook his head and took another swallow. "'Tis a sad day when an Englishman is too cowardly to take a drink."
The men gathered around the horseshoe pit grew quiet, their attention now centered on the two men. Wonderful, this was going to be a repeat of the situation with Faulkner.
"Is it cowardly to avoid that which is harmful?" Brahm asked, forcing lightness into his tone.
The younger man scowled, turning his features from handsome to unpleasant. "What could be harmful in a drink?"
Was it Brahm's imagination, or was Locke terribly dim? Perhaps it was the liquor dulling his senses. "It is harmful because I will not wish to stop at one."
Birch tried to silence his friend, but Locke would not be denied his chance to speak. "Then it is weakness that stops you."
Sighing, Brahm turned to fully face the slighter man. This was obviously not going to stop any time soon. He was going to have to be a bit more forceful. "Locke, have you ever seen me foxed?"
Locke shook his dark head. "No."
No, of course he hadn't. He wouldn't be trying so hard if he had. "Have you heard any stories?"
Locke grinned. "A few."
Only the amusing ones, obviously. That was surprising. Normally the amusing ones were followed with an equal number of the unamusing ones, such as the time he had broken a man's jaw for insulting the color of his waistcoat.
"Then you probably have heard that me drunk is not a good thing."
Locke nodded, sipping from the flask. Yes, he was well on his way to tipsy himself. "I have heard that, yes."
"Good."
"But one drink won't get you foxed." He jabbed a finger into Brahm's arm with a raucous chuckle. "Unless you've the constitution of a woman."
The man wasn't listening at all. Brahm sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Maybe if he broke Locke's jaw that would put an end to this insanity.
"If I take a drink I'll drain that flask, and then if you continue to piss me off as you are doing now, I'll shove my cane so far up your arse, you'll be picking your teeth with it."
Silence followed his snarled announcement as he glared at Locke, who stared back in stupefied silence.
Suddenly the air was punctuated with Lord Burrough's booming laugh. Other guests turned to see what had transpired that deserved such a reaction, but all they saw was Eleanor's father slapping Brahm on the back as Lord Locke stomped away, his face flushed.
"Yes my boy," the old man chortled. "I believe you will do indeed."
* * *
Eleanor found but a few moments to share with Brahm that afternoon. Even then it was nothing more than a walk after his horseshoe match before heading back to the estate. They were with a larger party who wished to explore the area, but Brahm's leg prevented them from keeping pace with the others, giving them a modicum of privacy.
"I believe your father likes me," he told her, lowering the brim of his hat against the sun.
Eleanor smiled. "I believe Lady Dumont likes you."
"Yes, but thankfully your father's sentiments are of a different bent."
She laughed. It seemed to be so easy for him to amuse her. "Indeed. What happened between you and Lord Locke earlier?"
Brahm shrugged his wide shoulders. "He was trying to persuade me to have a drink from his flask. He could not seem to understand why I refused."
A neat frown knitted Eleanor's brow as her fingers tightened on the handle of her parasol. "Was it difficult for you to refuse?"
His laughter was harsh and abrupt. "Every damn time. Pardon my language."
Her smile deepened. "I have heard the word 'damn' before, Brahm."
He sighed ruefully. "And here I was trying not to corrupt you with my scandalous ways. Next thing you'll tell me is that you like bourbon and French cigars."
