Dair Devil (25 page)

So the sooner he kissed Aurora Talbot, the sooner his equilibrium would be restored.

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he cleared his throat as well as his mind, and said with mild disinterest to her statement of apology,

“I beg your pardon, Miss Talbot, but I see no reason for you to offer me an apology.”

“Oh, I know there isn’t a thing either of us can do to change the past. But just because we cannot change events, does not mean I cannot change my opinion. And it cannot stop me feeling the way I do, now that my opinion has altered. Does that make sense?”

“Perhaps you need to explain it to me more fully?”

“May I?”

“By all means,” he replied blandly, thinking that if he allowed her to babble on it might help him ignore how she made him feel.

“Thank you… You see until you mentioned just now about carrying the dead and dying from a battlefield, I had not thought too deeply about what you and your brother soldiers endure in the army. Oh, I knew it must be wretched and too horrible for words, but I could never imagine what horrors you faced on the battlefield… But what you said just now, it was in such a matter-of-fact way that it instantly made me feel as if I was amongst the carnage—”

“Forgive me. It was not my intention to upset you.”

“Oh, there is nothing to forgive. I am not upset. I just want you to know I would like—
like
isn’t the right word—I would be
honored
if you ever wanted to tell me about your time in the army. Any of it. Grand tells me I am a good listener for a female, in that I do not interrupt or pry.”

“I shall keep your offer in mind.”

At that Rory gave a tinkle of laughter. “By which you mean you have no intention of telling me anything at all! No matter. My offer stands.”

When he remained silent and continued down the path and out into the clearing, she allowed herself to put her head on his shoulder and snuggle into the softness of his plum velvet frock coat. Unbeknownst to her, she breathed in deeply and sighed her contentment, enjoying the masculine salty scent of him mingled with traces of bergamot and woody tobacco leaf.

“I’ve been traveling since first light,” he muttered self-consciously. “I must be disagreeable to you.”

“No! No, not at all. I like it—I mean—
you
—I mean your frock coat—Your
frock coat
is most agreeable.”

He remained tight-lipped, square chin and dark eyes straight, but her panic of correction made him mentally smile.

They had come to the low stone wall that divided the Physic Garden from Banks House. Instead of opening the gate and passing through it, Dair carefully set Rory on top of the stonework.

“It saddens me you were forbidden to marry Lily Banks,” Rory said conversationally as she set her walking stick by the wall. “I like her. She is quite lovely, and not just in her appearance. She has a good heart and a gentle soul. I like her family, too. They are all well-meaning personable people. They certainly consider you part of their family. And Jamie—it is obvious you love him dearly. All that truly matters is the deep affection you, Jamie and Mrs. Banks have for one another. In such circumstances, Society’s good opinion is about as meaningful as a bowl of cold oats, is it not? Jamie has a great look of you, but, and you may scoff, he most resembles what I suppose your brother Charles must have looked like at the same age. Although, your brother’s hair is rather more fiery…”

“Charles…?”

When he grunted his surprise, she said steadily, “It was not my intention to offend you, my lord.”

“You did not, Miss Talbot.”

With a short bow, he excused himself and walked a little way through the field of wildflowers, shrugging his shoulders and stretching his arms, as if to rid a stiffness in his muscles. He then walked on, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his frock coat.

He might say she had not offended him, but Rory thought otherwise. She was always too honest for her own good. Her thoughts came tumbling out without the circumspection her grandfather cautioned she needed. Her muddled speech was meant to reassure the Major that she was not judgmental about the Banks family, or offended he shared a son with Lily Banks, or even that he had a continuing relationship with Mrs. Banks, whatever that was—she was not precisely sure. Though, having now spent a few hours in her company, she was convinced she and the Major were not lovers, and had not been since her marriage to her cousin.

She watched him turn and come back to her, a hand through his mussed hair, and that’s when it struck her. Why had he been in the saddle all day? And if he had, then it was no wonder he needed to stretch his limbs. He was tired and aching, and yet he had put himself to the bother of carrying her back to the jetty. And why were his face and hands lightly bronzed, as if he had spent days in a climate where the sun shone so brightly it could turn a man’s skin caramel. Surely there was no place this side of the Channel where it had not rained in the past month, that would give rise to such a complexion. She concluded he must have been absent from England for at least four weeks. Was that why he had allowed a black beard to grow upon his face, as if he had not the time or inclination to shave in days? Or was it part of something more mysterious, a disguise perhaps?

The sun’s brightness made her squint and place a hand to her brow, as he rejoined her at the wall. He moved into the path of the sun’s rays, to block the glare from her eyes, leaving her in his shadow. She smiled up at him, removing her hand, and said blithely,

“I had always assumed an inmate of the Tower spent most of his day in a dark dank cell. It just goes to show that we on the outside know little about what occurs on the inside of His Majesty’s premier prison for traitors…”

For one moment he had no idea what she was talking about. He’d forgotten he was supposed to have spent the past month in the Tower; though he had not forgotten his batman was still languishing under lock and key masquerading as him. He did not want to lie to her, but he wasn’t going to give the game away, either.

“Why do you say so, Miss Talbot?”

“No doubt my grandfather could tell me. He knows the history of the Tower and its guests as well as he does the veins on the back of his hands. Perhaps inmates of the Tower are not permitted the implements to shave their beards for fear they might do themselves or others an injury. But I am certain inmates rarely go free with such a healthy glow to their skin as you have.”

Dair put up a thick black eyebrow with studied surprise. “Is that so? Perhaps I was permitted more exercise time in the courtyard. I hate being cooped up, particularly in small spaces.”

Rory’s blue eyes narrowed and her voice held a note of triumph.

“Even were that the case, my lord, more time in the courtyard would have meant more time soaked through to your skin, and a possible cold caught for all your need of the outdoors. It has been raining on and off this past month—and at the Tower, too. Black clouds do not part for traitors, even if they are innocent and the charges a ruse for some higher purpose…”

For a moment he said nothing, and she wondered if he would refute her claims. But then he showed her a white smile, and shook his head.

“Bravo, Miss Talbot. Naturally, I cannot tell you where I’ve been or what I’ve been doing.”

“Oh, I don’t care about that! Oh! That is not strictly true. I care
you
are home safe, but as to what you’ve been doing and where you’ve been…” She pretended a moment to think on the matter, twirling a long lock of her fair hair between her fingers. “Not Paris. Not warm enough. And you have only been away for a little over a month… So you didn’t sail off to the Caribbean and back… I would hazard you were somewhere down the Channel, towards the Mediterranean… The south of France? Spain, perhaps…?”

“With this beard, I would not blame you for thinking I had taken up piracy on the high seas, or smuggling the coves of Cornwall.”

Rory’s gaze locked on his fingertips lightly stroking his bearded jaw and she longed to reach out and do the same. She wondered what he would be like to kiss with a beard. Would it be just as delicious as that first time? Were the hairs on his face as soft as those on his chest? Would they tickle or annoy her

Stop it, Aurora Christina Talbot
!
Your thoughts about this man are no longer delightfully wicked—they have turned ridiculously obsessive. He kissed you once and now you think there is some sort of connection between the two of you
?
There is not. Whatever you felt, it could not possibly be reciprocated. Stop being naïve, you little idiot
!

So said the voice of reason. But she could not help herself, particularly with the man standing in front of her in all his piratical handsomeness. She so wanted to know what it would be like to kiss him with that beard. She swallowed and pressed her dry lips together and said with a nervous laugh and a shrug, in her best manner of appearing off-hand,

“Pirate. American savage. Officer in His Majesty’s Army. Smuggler, perhaps… I wonder what other disguises you wear when you are absent from Society’s drawing rooms…?”

“Your grandfather should consider employing you. Your observational and reasoning skills are second to none.”

Rory beamed with pride at such praise. But she noted his voice was flat and he had skillfully avoided a direct response. Also, he showed not a flicker of recognition when she mentioned American savage. He was either an exceptional actor, or he had indeed been blind drunk the night at Romney’s studio. Either way, her voice of reason dared to smugly confirm that such a lack of a reaction in him was proof she meant less than nothing to him.

“Not from want of effort, but learned over time,” she said with a small unconscious sigh of defeat in response to her little voice of reason. “And from boredom. There’s simply isn’t much to do at balls and the like when one is confined to a chair.”

“You cannot dance—at all?”

She heard the note of concern in his voice, and it snapped her out of her preoccupation. That would serve her to rights for listening to the doubts expressed by her inner voice instead of concentrating on the here and now! The last thing on this earth she wanted from him was sympathy; the second last, to appear maudlin. She was rarely, if ever, self-pitying, and she never used her malformed foot as an excuse, or as a way of appearing interesting to others, or to elicit sympathy. She had been taught from a young age that to draw attention to herself in any way was the height of bad manners. Upon leaving the nursery and going out into Society, her grandfather had warned that it was her responsibility to put others at ease and to ensure they were not made uncomfortable in her presence. To do this she must be aware of her limitations. He said she was the most beautiful girl in the world and everyone else would soon see this too, if she was simply herself.

She believed her grandfather and did as he counseled. But what had never occurred to her, until she had set eyes on the very man who now stood before her, was to ask the question she now asked herself: Would she ever be desired for herself?

“You are right. Grand should employ me,” she replied, ignoring his question as he had earlier ignored hers. “The tittle-tattle I could recount to him after hours of observing others over the rim of my teacup! But I don’t need to tell you, do I? I suspect in your chosen occupation you need to be a master of observation. Though—in your particular case—you are accomplished at concealing your skills.”

“Concealing my skills?” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I have more than one?”

She ignored his flippancy, breathing a mental sigh of relief that he did not pursue whether or not she could dance, and excited to have unmasked him. The more she thought about it, the more she knew her supposition to be correct. She recalled her unsettling impression of him the times she had watched him at balls and Society gatherings from the comfort of a chair and behind her fluttering fan: There was something about the way he played the big-headed Merry-Andrew a little too well. And it perplexed her that her grandfather quietly defended him whenever dinner guests dared to suggest Major Lord Fitzstuart was nothing more than an arrogant buffoon and a self-serving dullard, a disgrace not only to his royal heritage, but also to his august kin, the Duke of Roxton and his family.

She had always wondered what the connection could be between her grandfather and her brother’s school friend. She assumed it was simply her grandfather keeping a fatherly eye on the Major, since his own father had deserted his family and his country. Possibly this was true, but she now believed there was nothing simple about their association. She could have kicked her own shin for not suspecting earlier that the Major was the Spymaster General’s protégé. It made perfect sense, and the Major played the game very well indeed.

“Every spy hides behind a façade, or he would not be good at spying, would he?” she said matter-of-factly, and when his smile died she pretended not to notice, adding cheerfully, “Observation is an important skill. Not too many persons can do two things at once well, least of all observe a room full of people while pretending disinterest in his surroundings. And you are particularly skilled, because you are usually the center of attention, so it must be doubly difficult for you.” She cocked her head and screwed up her little nose in thought. “You have perfected the practice of blustering arrogance so well that you may call it your own, thus most people take you at face value—”

“Face value? You give me a great deal more credit than others who own to knowing me better.”

She shrugged. “Why should your family, friends and acquaintances think you anything but what you present? Major Lord Fitzstuart can be dared to take on any wager, must win at all costs, and plays the big handsome buffoon so convincingly no one questions his performance. Society rarely looks beyond the superficial. It prefers to believe the most salacious answer is the correct one, and does not change its opinion once formed. That is how a sweet-natured female of good character can be branded a whore for all eternity, when, as a mere girl, she made the mistake of falling in love with a handsome boy out of her marital reach, and had his babe out of wedlock as a consequence.”