Twixt Two Equal Armies (53 page)

“Well, as a Cambridge man, steeped in the conviction that only study of the classics will carry mankind anywhere close to higher learning, I must accede that you are absolutely right. The limits set by conservative notions of education and faculties have most certainly damaged my respect for proper learning and application of knowledge. I have not honoured my Alma Mater with what I was given. I spent three dissipated years at University, took great delight in displaying my talents and none in applying them to anything that was not to my own advantage or amusement. I sometimes wonder if I should have done better at another discipline than mathematics, which was so disastrously designed to allow me to show off. But you see, nothing but Cambridge was to be considered. And philosophy makes me quite ill.”

“If you ever have a son, my lord, I hope you will remember that.”

Baugham laughed.

“You should not be uneasy on that score, madam! My family has a grand tradition of filial disobedience. I have every confidence that any son of mine will stay well away from Oxbridge and take his learning as an attached apprentice of some sort. I should be very happy were he to consider anything as orthodox as natural sciences at Edinburgh.”

“As much as I do not believe you mean one word of that, I would very much love to witness it. A noble Anglican son surrounded by all those nonconformists . . . ”

Mrs Tournier looked at her friend when there was no response to her challenge. He was staring out the window and had quite obviously abandoned their discussion for the view of the garden.

“Well?” she said impatiently.

“She is there,” he said and then turned his head towards her and gave a sheepish smile. “I can see Miss Tournier in the garden these past fifteen minutes, ma’am.”

“Really?” Mrs Tournier said and could not hide the acidity in her voice.

“She seems not prepared to leave it, though,” his lordship continued. “The thought of tea must be very unattractive to her for some reason, for I cannot see that she is employed in anything useful. In fact, I suspect she is piddling.”

Mrs Tournier stood up and joined him watching out the window.

“My daughter likes her garden,” she said. “She apparently feels it is a more comfortable place at the moment than my parlour. However, she rarely piddles.”

“Just today or as a rule?” his lordship asked softly.

“Do your plans keep you in Scotland for much longer, my lord?” she abruptly asked the preoccupied young man staring out the window, but it made no impact.

“No fixed plans,” he said distractedly before standing. “The wind is picking up. If you will excuse me, I think I should let Miss Tournier know that the tea is getting cold and you wish her to come in.”

“You are ascribing protective maternal feelings to me that I make no claim to at present, my lord, and which would most certainly confuse my daughter,” she stated, but he was already on his way to the door, leaving Mrs Tournier to huff in irritation, and then to sit and wait in impatient agitation for their return.

H
E FOUND HER SITTING ON
a rickety garden bench beneath what, under more favourable seasons, was a large apple tree but now was more like a tangle of ancient and lichen covered branches at impossible angles. She was twining wilted weeds between her fingers, deep in thought and if she heard him approach, she made no sign of it, looking steadfastly ahead out into the farther end of the garden where there was nothing but the same barrenness to be seen.

“So,” Baugham said softly as he reached her, “here we are. You hiding out in the garden, braving the elements and me wondering how to execute your mother’s wishes and bring you in.”

Holly turned at the sound of his voice, her expression curiously and uncharacteristically empty.

“Please do not trouble yourself, my lord. I am not hiding; I am simply enjoying the solitude. I am perfectly capable of deciding for myself when I ought to come in from the cold, as my mother is well aware.”

She pulled her eyes away and went back to staring at the emptiness in front of her.

“Well, then,” he said, “let me confess a selfish motive. You really cannot deprive me of your presence while taking tea in your parlour, thinking I shall be content with the charming and excellent company of just one woman when I could have the pleasure of two. More especially since I was so helpful with some very thorny vines just now. I thought I was forgiven for whatever crime you will not concede I might have perpetrated yesterday?”

She gave him a cold look. “And I thought you would have discharged your obligation to my mother and been happily on your way to the Tristam’s by now. Indeed, if charming company is what you look for above all else, my lord, I am very surprised that you stay. That is the one thing they can more than adequately provide you with and I cannot imagine why you would delay joining such ‘accommodating’ company only to come here to pine for it.”

She was about to turn back to watch her bleak garden and wish him long gone, but the way he returned her cold gaze arrested her. He was looking at her so strangely she found herself unable to stop meeting his eyes. She should look away, make him realise she had no interest in continuing this game, but the way his blue eyes bore down on her made her stay still. Both stubbornness and fascination kept her just as she was.

“The Tristams?” Baugham said incredulously and could not keep his voice from rising to a near shout. “The ‘charming’ Tristams! You imagine I
pine
for their company?”

“Well you certainly seem to enjoy it well enough,” she said, believing herself to be calm, but in fact sounding quite sharp. “Supper yesterday and tea today. And since the flattering attentions you receive are obviously returned with equal measure, I can only wonder that you would forsake such fascinating company just to mingle with the hired help. Truly,
my lord
, such condescension is not necessary. I will complete your library without any need for flattery or further incentive.”

“Miss Tournier! This habit of yours . . . ” he sputtered. “Why you insist on portraying yourself as a poor country lass of no consequence rather than the daughter of proud and noble heritage that you are — you know you are not merely ‘hired help’, and referring to yourself as such reeks of false modesty and misplaced humility.”

“Modesty and humility,” Holly scoffed. “Two qualities that I am not surprised are unfamiliar enough to you that you cannot tell the genuine from the sham! In case you have forgotten, I
am
the hired help; I
am
a poor country lass of no consequence, whatever my father may once have been. You have no place in such company; truly, it only wastes your time as well as mine. Go conduct your business elsewhere, somewhere more profitable and pleasing to you. There is nothing here that is worth your time!”

He met her blazing eyes with narrowed, cool ones.

“Business? What business do you think I am in then, Miss Tournier? Do you suppose me to take pleasure in the company of one who simpers and blushes and flatters, scarcely having the ability to hide a predatory nature, or do you suppose I enjoy indulging in insincere flirtations with females to pass a boring afternoon?”

She swiftly stood up and took a few steps away from him, instinctively wanting to distance herself from those ice-cold eyes. He spun around and closed in, just as instinctively denying her the safety. That menacing gesture strengthened her resolve and she dug her heels in. She concentrated hard on returning his direct and foreboding expression while he went on in a very tight and harsh voice.

“It is by no means compulsory to have a sense of humour when aspiring to pretensions established by polite society. I can even comprehend why a woman of your character and situation would not place much value on fripperies and inane chatter. But I fail to see why you are intent on misconstruction every time I open my mouth. Pray, what is it about me that makes you feel so defensive and so anxious to show me my trespasses at every single turn?”

She stood to face him, drawing as much dignity as she could gather.

“You, sir, rely far too much on your novelty value in this confined country circle! No doubt with your easy manners you think you only engage in good-natured teasing. Well, it is a relative term at best. Some men are harmless flirts that can be easily seen through and so cause no mischief. Others . . . well, others cause more damage than they realise through their carelessness. You trifle and charm and flirt and
play
your way through the lives of people you hardly know and think you can go back to your London circles and everything will be as it has always been here. Well, it will not! Do you imagine that we disappear into our little holes as soon as we are not needed for your entertainment anymore? Well, we do not! We are left with exactly what you leave us with in terms of irresponsible behaviour and hopes and interpretations . . . ” She forced herself to stop, turning the subject in a more general direction:

“And though on such a short acquaintance I would not presume to know what sort of company you take pleasure in, or how you prefer to pass a boring afternoon, I can say that you do seem to make it your business to charm and endear yourself to every female you happen upon. That, sir, is your choice if you wish to go about the countryside gathering a court of admirers and raising expectations. And I am sorry if it disappoints you that I do not wish to be among that number . . . one of many . . . ”

Baugham gave a snort and threw out his hand in a desperate gesture.

“Indeed! And this is your honest opinion of me? Fantastic and extraordinary, I must say! How unfortunate of me to fancy seeing a disposition that enjoys spirited and ready conversation in you. Perhaps I should have interpreted your capricious temper in a less positive way! Perhaps I should not have assumed that an informed mind such as yours is capable of an honest exchange of opinions under any other guise than romantic aspirations! And perhaps I should not have overestimated your ability to keep name, prejudice and character separate in your mind!”

“Romantic aspirations?! You flatter yourself, my lord! I fear you have become so used to fawning and flirtation that you forget the value of honest communication. If words spoken in truth and feeling are so offensive to you, I give you leave to go elsewhere. I am sure there is a Miss Tristam breathlessly awaiting your arrival who will be happy to tell you exactly what you wish to hear! Go to them!” She gave an irritated wave of her hand. “Line them up and pour out your considerable charms before them. That way you can quickly determine which is the most cloying and therefore, the most agreeable to you.”

She stomped her foot in frustration.

“Hateful, spiteful man . . . ”

Something warm and stifling travelled up his throat and settled in his mouth. He felt his mind shot through with a thousand flashes of what he wanted to say and what he felt. His head swam with strong impulses and he struggled to make any sense of them at all. But as he was hard at work sifting through the words he really wanted to fling at this impossible wench who dared throw him into such a rage and render him so completely at the mercy of his temper, he caught sight of her lips trembling with rage and how she suddenly bit the lower one when she had finished spitting out her malice.

He was mesmerised. He must have stared at those lips for an inordinate amount of time — perhaps all of five seconds — unable to articulate any of the sentiments he was so intent on expressing with full force.

“Lord, help me,” was all that he could manage before his hand reached out and lightly touched her cheek. She gasped, but his impulse was too overwhelming and her features flickered in front of his face as he bowed down and resolutely pressed his lips on hers.

The sensation was stunning. They were soft and warm and she tasted of honey and dew. As his brain and body registered all the feelings that kiss caused within him, he felt her grow even softer and warmer. The stifling feeling in his throat melted away and was replaced with something far more exciting and urgent. As it caught up with him, he sharply drew his breath and released her.

In absolute silence and amazement he stood watching her, looking deep into her dark, smouldering, bottomless brown eyes, unable to withdraw and even less able to comprehend the world around him and how he found himself in this most surprising and precarious situation.

H
OLLY FELT AS IF A
bolt of fire had just shot through her body. She could not tear her eyes away from his, even though her mind was racing. She knew what had just happened, but she was confused — he had kissed her . . .
he had kissed her
. . .

She considered it; the experience was nothing like she had expected, but it was not at all unpleasant — no, not at all. In fact, she was certain she had kissed him back and she realised that she was, even now, clutching the sides of his coat with her hands. She quickly dropped them.

She felt warm and flushed and she thought that she must be angry, but he was looking at her still and in such a way that she felt the bolt of fire return and she drew in a shallow breath. A small sound escaped from her still parted lips and she knew that what she had been denying to herself for so long could be denied no longer.

But his eyes were changing. His expression was growing more guarded and she could see he was trying to pull his eyes away — and then he succeeded . . .