Thunder and Roses (8 page)

“Clever, clever Clare.” He mounted his own horse and turned it back the way they had come. “Why do you care about such ancient history?”

“Isn’t a mistress supposed to care about her lover?” she asked softly.

Their glances met, and Nicholas felt something shift deep inside him, creating a moment of strange vulnerability. This woman could hurt him badly if he wasn’t careful. Retreating again to mockery, he said, “A mistress should care a little, but not too much. Money and passion are the foundation of this sort of relationship.”

Refusing to be put off, she said, “Since I don’t want either of those things, where does that leave me?”

“As the patron saint of a slate quarry,” he said promptly. “Perhaps I’ll call it the Great Clare.” When she made a face, he continued, “Speaking of your projects, I want to visit the coal pit. Can you arrange that through your friends?”

“I’m sure the manager, George Madoc, would be happy to receive a visit from the greatest landowner in the area.”

He made an impatient gesture. “It’s not Madoc I want to see, or at least, not yet. I’d rather go into the mine with a
knowledgable
guide so I can see for myself the problems that you mentioned.”

Once again Clare felt that she was caught up in a tempest. She had not expected Nicholas to move so quickly, or be so determined to live up to his part of the bargain. “The leader of my class-meeting is a hewer in the pit. I’m sure he’d be willing to take you down and explain the hazards.”

“Will doing so put his job at risk?”

“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But if he should be discharged, you could hire him for the quarry. He’s an outstanding worker.”

“Very well. Arrange it for as soon as possible, preferably at a time when Madoc isn’t about. No reason to borrow trouble.”

They both fell silent. It was near noon, and unseasonably warm. Since Nicholas was bareheaded, Clare decided that she too could take off her hat. After a long, cold winter, the sun’s rays on her face felt wonderful.

Nicholas dismounted to open a gate that led into a pasture full of black Welsh cattle. Knowing that he would simply jump the fence if he were alone, Clare appreciated the courtesy.

As he closed the gate behind her, he remarked, “You’re right that the local agricultural practices need attention. Driving the best cattle off to London every year has caused the quality of stock to deteriorate badly throughout Wales. While we’re in London, I’ll see about buying a couple of high quality bulls for breeding stock. Besides using them to improve the Aberdare herd, I’ll make them available to the local smallholders.”

Nicholas’s deviltry must be contagious, for Clare found herself saying, “I suppose that providing a local stud service is the first thing a rake would think of.”

Instead of being insulted, he gave a shout of laughter. “If you aren’t careful, I might start to think that you have a sense of humor. A wicked one.”

Rhonda slowed, and Clare realized that she was pulling at the reins again. Merciful heaven, but Nicholas could be charming. Seeking a safer subject, she said, “Is it true that you brought some unusual animals back from your travels?”

He grinned. “A few. Come along and I’ll show you.”

He swung his horse to the right and led her toward a higher, rockier section of the estate. They passed through another gate, this one in a high wall that looked newly built.

After closing the gate, Nicholas tethered his horse at the edge of a grove of sycamores, then went to assist Clare from her mount. “We’ll go the rest of the way on foot.”

Once again putting a light hand on her lower back, he guided her into the woods. Uneasily she recognized how pleasant it was to feel that she was being guarded and protected. That she was not alone …

Even though she jumped in surprise, it was a relief when the silence was shattered by a raucous, braying sound. The initial bellow triggered a chorus of similar cries. A little disappointed, she said, “It sounds like a herd of donkeys.”

He smiled. “Wait.”

They emerged from the woods by a small lake set in a rocky cup of ground. Clare stopped and blinked, not believing what her eyes were reporting. “What on earth?”

Waddling along the shore of the lake were a dozen or so of the strangest creatures she had ever seen. Perhaps two feet high, the black and white beasts walked upright like men, but seemed to have no feet at all. Their waddling gait was so irresistibly comic that she began to laugh.

Braying like a donkey, one creature got into a squabble with one of its fellows. After a brief tussle, the second ran squawking to the lake, then dived in headfirst and vanished.

“Clare, meet the penguins. Penguins, this is Clare.” Nicholas took her hand and helped her through the rocks onto the pebbled beach. Though several penguins retreated into the high grass, the rest didn’t seem to mind the intrusion. A few stood as still as statues with their black beaks held arrogantly high. Others scurried about as if the humans weren’t there, tugging tufts of grass and stacking pebbles.

One ambled over and pecked hopefully at Clare’s boot. Disappointed, it fixed her first with one beady eye, then tilted its head so it could see her with the other. She began laughing again. “I’ve read about penguins, but I had no idea they were so delightful! My children would love to see them. Could I bring my school here?”

When the earl quirked a brow, she remembered that the school was no longer hers, at least not for the next three months. But he said, “I don’t see why not, as long as your students don’t upset them.”

Clare bent and touched the sleek head of the penguin that was still investigating her. The black feathers were short, stiff, and bristly. “I thought penguins only lived in very cold lands. Might Britain be too warm for them?”

“These are black-footed penguins from islands near the Cape of Good Hope, where the climate is more like Wales.” He tossed a pebble. A penguin investigated, then collected it for its nest. “They seem to be thriving, though it was difficult getting them here. I had to fill a ship’s hold with ice packed in straw and keep them there for the hottest weeks of the trip.”

“They’re amazingly clumsy.”

“Only on land. They do their flying in the water, where they are as sleek and graceful as fish. Watch those two as they go into the lake.”

Clare followed the direction of his gesture and saw how the bodies that were chunky and awkward on land became miraculously swift and sleek under the water. The penguins disappeared from view for long periods of time, then would rocket above the surface so swiftly that she could hardly see them before they vanished again. “I could watch for hours. I see why you went to the effort to bring them back.”

He regarded the penguins pensively. “For a time I considered creating a menagerie made up exclusively of black and white animals.”

“Was that because you always wear black and white yourself and wanted a place where you would fit right in?”

He grinned. “No, it was because I like zebras almost as much as penguins. Zebras are African creatures that look like black and white striped ponies. They race across the grasslands only a few inches apart, like a cavalry charge, or the trained horses at
Astley’s
Circus.”

Intrigued, Clare tried to imagine such a sight. “They sound interesting. Why did you change your mind?”

“Zebras are at home in the blazing African sun and the endless plains. I was afraid that in damp, rainy Wales, they’d fall into a decline and die on me. The peacocks complain about the weather constantly, but since I’m not the one who brought them here from India, I refuse to feel guilty.”

“Everyone complains about the Welsh weather. It is the greatest single source of Welsh identity.”

He chuckled. “True. Yet I missed the weather when I was away. It’s always changing, which is more interesting than week after week of boring sunshine.”

Three more penguins hurled themselves into the water. Nicholas said, “It’s best to observe them below the surface. It’s like watching an underwater ballet. They play together like otters.” An expression of unholy mischief crossed his face. “Let’s watch them. It’s a warm day— perfect for a swim.” He moved a dozen steps away from the pebble beach and stripped off his coat and waistcoat, then began to untie his cravat.

Penguins forgotten, Clare’s jaw dropped. “You can’t just take off your clothing and jump in the lake.”

“Of course I can.” He dropped his cravat on his other garments. “If you were a proper mistress, you would, too. Though in that case we might not get as far as the water.”

“You aren’t serious,” she said nervously.

“Ah, Clare, how little you know me.” He sat on a rock and tugged off his boots, then stood and unbuttoned the throat of his shirt. “I hope the penguins don’t decide to use my clothing for nest-building—my valet would be furious.”

As he pulled the shirt over his head, exposing a large swath of smooth, dark skin, she stammered, “So-stop. This isn’t decent.”

“Why? Penguins, zebras, peacocks, and all the rest of the earth’s creatures go about in the skin God gave them. It’s downright unnatural for humans to always cover themselves. In warmer parts of the world, they don’t.” Laughing, he tossed his shirt onto the growing mound of clothing.

His chest and shoulders were as beautifully muscled as a Greek statue, but warm with life, more inviting than marble could ever be. Clare was paralyzed, unable to look away from the ebony hair that dusted his chest, then arrowed down his hard midriff in a dark line that disappeared behind the edge of his pantaloons.

“Sure you won’t want to join me? The water will be cold, but the sun is warm and a penguin ballet is a rare sight.” He began unbuttoning his pantaloons.

Clare bolted. Without looking back, she gasped, “I’ll wait with the horses.”

His laughter followed her into the woods.

Clare ran until she could no longer see the lake, then stopped and clung to a tree, her heart pounding. As she struggled to regain her breath, she made an appalling discovery.

She had wanted, rather desperately, to stay and see his naked body.

Bark chipped away as her nails bit into the tree trunk. How could she want something so immoral? How could twenty-six years of irreproachable behavior be forgotten so quickly?

Her feverish mind sought for a calm, rational excuse for going back to watch him swim. Perhaps … perhaps observing Nicholas now would diminish his air of masculine mystery, so that if he behaved so outrageously again she would be able to take it more in stride?

Even as she formulated the thought, she knew it was a lie. The simple truth was that her willpower was not strong enough to prevent her from returning. Face tight with self-reproach, she turned and quietly retraced her steps through the grove. When she reached the edge of the woods, she concealed herself behind a shrub, knowing that if Nicholas saw her, she would die of shame.

His back to Clare, he was walking into the water, his skin glowing golden in the sunlight. She stared, fascinated, at the strong arc of his spine and the taut muscles of his buttocks and thighs as they flexed with every step. He was gloriously pagan, as much in harmony with nature as the wind and the trees.

She caught her breath, heart aching with the knowledge that she could never be Eve to his Adam.

When the water was thigh-high, a penguin whizzed by him. Instantly he dived forward and vanished, staying under so long that Clare began to feel concerned. Then he surfaced halfway across the lake, laughing and surrounded by penguins, his black hair slicked over his head and neck.

How many other women had seen him like this and yearned over his beautiful, masculine body?

How many women had he casually seduced and forgotten?

The thought instantly sobered her. Nicholas was a rake and a philistine who made no attempt to deny that he had done despicable things. Clare’s presence in his life was accidental and temporary; instead of mooning over him like a
lovestruck
milkmaid, she must concentrate on surviving the next three months with her dignity and reputation intact.