The Rebel (9 page)

“You can wear the black hat with the dark
veil that Mother wore to the funeral of Parson Adam’s mother last
winter. That should cover the bruise and more.” Clara reached for
Jane’s hand and started pulling her toward the door. “Fey tells me
that Sir Nicholas has been ready for some time. We should hurry, I
suppose. We don’t want him to form a poor opinion of us now, do
we?”

“Not at all.” Jane muttered under her breath
as she was dragged from the room. “As his future sister-in-law, I
am absolutely desperate with fear that he should form anything but
the highest opinion of me.”

***

For the hundredth time, at least, Nicholas
watched Jane try to straighten the silly-looking hat perched on top
of her head. Thwarting her at every turn, the autumn breeze
continued to push the thing this way and that, tugging at the
strands of dark hair she must have tucked with such care beneath.
The long pins had loosened, though, and the waves of hair
threatened to escape, and only the dark veil covering her face kept
the foolish thing anchored.

The older sister had not appeared at
breakfast with the rest of the family. And even afterward, Nicholas
had seen no sign of her until he and Clara had walked to their
horses waiting in the paddock. She was waiting for them there amid
bustling grooms and stable boys. Arrayed in black, she sat astride
her ebony mare, a sight to behold. No sidesaddle delicacy for this
one. Jane Purefoy was a “goer” in every way.

Except, of course, for that ridiculous
hat.

The breezes stiffened as they rode north
across open fields. Though the sun shone brightly overhead, to the
northwest clouds lay like a tattered shawl over the
round-shouldered peaks of ancient gray mountains. In his mind’s
eye, he could see so clearly the vision of Jane last night, riding
the same animal, carried along on wind and the storm. He’d
fervently wished to catch up to her before she returned to her
room. He could only guess why she wouldn’t want to speak to him,
too—if only to satisfy her curiosity about him. Nicholas had
discovered her secret, but how much was he to reveal—and to
whom—had to be a gnawing question. And Jane Purefoy didn’t strike
him as a very patient person.

The wind continued to buffet them. From his
vintage point, riding half a dozen lengths behind Jane, Nicholas
could see that she had finally pushed up the dark netting over the
narrow brim of the hat.

On impulse, Nicholas spurred his steed
forward, suddenly desirous of a glimpse of her face. Upon hearing
him approach, though, Jane nudged her mare, keeping the safe
distance between them that she’d maintained since leaving Woodfield
House. For an insane moment he considered laying his riding crop
onto the flanks of his mount and daring her to race with him. But
the thought of Clara straggling along behind checked him in
time.

He reined in, suppressing a frown as he
waited for the younger sister to reach him. Unlike Jane, she sat
fashionably sidesaddle and appeared a little flustered. Coming up
beside him, she reached up to adjust the delicate, feathered hat
that she was wearing.

“I’m so sorry. I see I should have chosen a
livelier horse this morning.” She patted her brow with the back of
her gloved hand and tucked some of the golden curls under the hat.
“I am not as horrid a rider as you must think. It is just my choice
of…”

“Not at all. You ride well,” he
complimented, pulling on the reins of his steed so it would fall in
step with hers. He could see that Jane had slowed down ahead and
was pulling the veil back over her face. “It is for me to apologize
for not keeping to your pace.”

“No, sir,” she said softly. “No apologies
are warranted, I assure you.”

Nicholas’s attention again was drawn to the
tantalizing image of the expert rider ahead and the cruel game that
she was playing. She was once again staying just ahead of them.
Close enough to torment, but not close enough to be touched.

“I’ve been wondering, Miss Clara,” he said,
nodding his head in Jane’s direction, “why it is that your sister
refuses to ride with us?”

“She…I assume…I should think she doesn’t
want to intrude.”

“Intrude on what?” His words were tinged
with mockery, and he cleared his throat to correct his tone. “What
I intended to say is that there could be no intrusion, and this
would be a far more comfortable ride if we could travel together. I
had very little time to converse with your sister last night, and
frankly I fail to see why the three of us shouldn’t spend an hour
enjoying each other’s company.”

“I should very much like you to become
better acquainted with my sister,” Clara responded, and Nicholas
watched Jane again reach up and adjust the abominable hat.

“Would it help if we both were to approach
and tell her that she would not be
intruding
upon our
conversation?”

“I fear that my sister has a mind of her
own.” The blue eyes turned to him. “I hope you believe me when I
say that it wasn’t my idea for Jane to be riding so far ahead.”

“I do believe you. But if you would allow me
to pry a little into your family’s affairs, I have a question I’d
like to ask you.” Nicholas continued after receiving a cautious nod
from Clara. “I’ve been quite perplexed since meeting Miss Jane
yesterday. Could you tell me why it was that your sister did not
accompany your family to London this past spring?”

“Certainly. That was Jane’s choice. She has
made a habit of never traveling with the rest of us.”

“Why, then, did your family never mention
that there was an older daughter?” Nicholas directed a piercing
look at her. “Was it Jane’s decision, as well, not to be
acknowledged by either parent or sister? Tell me, Clara, was your
sister dropped by gypsies in her infancy at your parents’
door?”

“Hardly, sir!” Clara’s gaze fell on the
reins looped tightly around her gloved hands. “Jane is my only
sister, and very dear to me…to all of us.”

“And yet you have no answer for the secrecy
surrounding her existence? Though I am not particularly opposed to
a little mystery…or scandal, either…I must say that there is a hint
of both in the air at Woodfield House. But perhaps I should take
this up with Sir Thomas.”

“I…well, as you see fit, sir. But I can tell
you honestly that my sister never had any desire to be presented in
society, as I have been presented. She had no balls thrown in her
honor. There were no callers courting her. Jane never had any
intention of choosing a husband from London’s
ton
.” She
hesitated. “My parents, however, had different plans for me. It is
no secret, and there is no shame in admitting to you that my
parents took me to London for the purpose of arranging a proper
marriage.”

And given the right title and qualifications
and wealth, Nicholas thought, anyone wearing breeches would have
sufficed. Once again, the business of marriage reared its mercenary
head, and Nicholas found himself repulsed by the idea. To him, the
entire process wasn’t much different than the owner of a likely
mare going to a country fair and choosing a stud. All that was left
was to haggle over the price…and Sir Thomas was, no doubt, well
prepared for that.

As they rode on in silence, thoughts of the
marriage of his friend Stanmore to Rebecca Neville last year sprang
to his mind. Before leaving for Ireland, he’d made a short trip to
Solgrave to meet the new member of their family. Samuel Frederick
Wakefield was borne at the end of July. With the older boy, James,
home for the summer and doting on the new baby, Nicholas could not
recall ever knowing a family as content and happy as the
Stanmores.

Starting up yet another of the rolling green
hills that seemed to go on forever, Nicholas couldn’t help but
wonder if Rebecca and Stanmore knew how lucky they were that they
had so completely avoided the ordeal of bartering for a spouse.
Yes, he was certain that they did indeed know.

But, he thought with a pang of guilt, when
all was said and done, how different was his own approach to
finding a wife than the approach used by the Purefoys? Not very,
when one came right down to it.

Up ahead, at the top of the hill, Jane was
withdrawing a pin to adjust the hat when a strong gust suddenly
tore the thing off her head and sent it—veil and all—swooping past
them like some tattered and malevolent raven. In an instant,
Nicholas had wheeled his horse and, drawing his sword, leaned down
and pinned the thing to the ground. Raising the hat like a trophy
on the point of his sword, he did his best to look embarrassed as
he turned back to the two women. Gingerly, he pulled the hat from
the weapon and sheathed his sword as he rode back to the sisters,
who were staring at him wide-eyed.

Jane’s face, however, was all Nicholas had
eyes for as he approached. With her hair now loose around her
shoulders and dancing in the wind, her dark eyes were watching his
every movement as he approached. Once again, he saw the woman he’d
knocked down the day before. As he drew nearer, his gaze took in
all of her—from the tips of her black boots to the proud chin and
bruised mouth. He could not stop himself from staring at her
sensual lips and wondering about their taste.

“Well, sir…” Jane said as he reached them.
She seemed flushed and breathless, as if she’d been guessing at the
direction of his thoughts. “It appears you’ve not only run it to
ground; you’ve dealt it a death blow!”

“I fear that I have.” He inserted a gloved
finger where his sword had cut the beaver skin. “And I insist on
buying a replacement at the first opportunity.”

“No need,” Jane responded. “I can wear it as
is. When we get back to Woodfield House, I am certain Fey can mend
it…well, somehow.”

She extended a hand for the hat, and
Nicholas nudged his horse nearer. But just as Jane’s hand was about
to close on the brim, he released it. As if shot from his hand, the
thing flew off again, carried away on another gust of wind.

Jane watched the hat take flight. Instead of
going after it, Nicholas enjoyed the close study of her pretty face
this close. “I see you shall
have
to allow me to find a
replacement, now.”

“It was actually our mother’s,” Clara said
softly from behind before pulling her horse abreast. “I assure you
that she shan’t miss it.”

Jane watched the hat tumbling across the
moor for a moment before turning her attention back to her sister.
“Well, as fate would have it, I fear I cannot escort you to
Ballyclough, after all. But if you could make my excuses to the
Reverend Mr. Adams and Mrs. Br…?”

“No, Jane. You promised to come.”

“I know I did. But under the circumstances
of my appearance…”

“The parson already saw the bruise on your
face last night.”

“But Mrs. Brown has not.”

“It doesn’t show so much in the light.”
Clara leaned over and touched the other woman’s arm. “You look
fine, Jane. Tell her, Sir Nicholas, that she looks fine.”

“I would say that Miss Purefoy looks far
better than fine,” he offered quietly as his gaze caressed her
face. “I should be greatly disappointed if she were to rob us of
her charming company on such a pleasant day.”

A soft blush actually crept into her cheeks,
and Nicholas was happy to know that she was not totally immune to
his words.

“Come, Jane. Please? Parson Adams has been
after you for some time now to come to Ballyclough, and we are
almost there.”

A look of frustration crossed the older
sister’s fair features, and she glanced again in the direction that
her hat had flown off. It was still visible far off in the
distance, the veil caught on a bramble while the hat itself dangled
in the mud of what appeared to be a water-filled ditch.

“
Jane
!” Clara’s insistent and
pleading tone made it clear that she didn’t want to be left alone
with him, and this suited Nicholas perfectly.

“I shall escort you to the edge of the
village, but no farther. There I shall leave you and ride over to
visit a friend near Buttevant. If you insist, though, I shall
return in time to have a very short visit with Parson Adams before
returning to Woodfield House with you.”

Clara was obviously relieved, and the three
again turned their horses northward. Before Jane could move ahead
of them again, though, Nicholas immediately directed the
conversation toward her.

“I must say, Miss Jane, that I am quite
surprised that your family would approve of you riding off on your
own—to that Buttevant place—without an escort. No fears of the
Whiteboys?”

“None, Sir Nicholas.” She kept her gaze
straight ahead. “They have never been known to remain in the same
area after an incident such as the one yesterday. Are
you
concerned, sir?”

“Not at all.”

“And how is your arm today?”

“Much better. And your face?”

“I am
very
well, thank you.”

Nicholas suppressed a smile, and the three
rode along in silence for a moment.

“Those were capital storms last night.
Either of you have any difficulty sleeping?”

“Sleep is just about the only thing that
Jane holds precious in life,” Clara offered. “In fact, part of my
sister’s crankiness this morning has to do with being awakened too
early in the day.”

“I sympathize with her completely,” he
replied casually. “As a creature of the night myself, I had
difficulty going to sleep last night. So I ended up going outside
and watching the storm from the safety of the archway facing the
stables. It is amazing how enchanting the night could be when one
spends some time in it.”

Jane cast a questioning glance at him, and
Nicholas held her gaze. Her eyes darkened, sparkling like
sapphires, and he reveled in the knowledge that he had again
captured her attention.