Dedicated Villain (19 page)

“Well, he'll not break mine! Besides, Captain Mathieson thinks of me as his little sister, and is determined to bring me up properly.”

My lady's jaw dropped. “To … what?”

“He considers Papa to have been remiss in my education,” said Fiona demurely.

“Well! Of all the impertinence! How dare he presume to judge your father? Not but what he ain't perfectly right, for Bradford never has seen to your proper guidance, being quite content to allow you to mother
him
, rather than be a responsible father to
you
! But for Mathieson, of
all
men to censure— La, but I must have been all about in my head when I let him join us!”

Fiona asked pensively, “Why did you allow it, Grandmama?”

“Oh … curiosity, perhaps.” My lady returned to her chair and said with rather a wistful sigh, “I wanted to see if he is as black as he's painted. Besides, 'twill do no harm to have another sword in case things go badly, and I'd sooner have him under my eye than …” She paused, then went on militantly, “But not if he is trying to fix his interest with you, miss! That I'll not stand for!”

“What do you think of Thaddeus Heywood as a husband for me, ma'am?”

Lady Ericson sat very still for a moment. Then, her tone casual but her eyes very intent she asked, “Have you a kindness for him, child?”

“I have indeed. Thaddeus is the dearest of creatures. But, I believe the poor soul has already lost his heart, Grandmama.”

“Hmmnn. Did he tell you so?”

“Not in so many words. But we have talked often, and I sense an inner sorrow. Perhaps he has been rejected.”

“Hah! And a prodigious silly chit to reject so prime a prize. The boy is charming, not unattractive, gentle, honourable, will
never be able to spend a fourth of his fortune, and is a baron besides!” My lady's chin jutted. Eyes flashing, she muttered, “Little fool!”

Fiona's wonder at such vehemence was drowned in her deeper astonishment. “Thaddeus—
Heywood
? A peer?”

“Yes, and lud what a gabbling gossip I am! You will please to forget I've told you. Now—enlighten me pray, as to how our fine instructor means to improve you? I'll own he's had sufficient experience with the fair sex to know what he's about.”

“Evidently, ma'am,” said Fiona. “For I rather suspect Captain Mathieson has reached the same conclusion as you have done, and means me to marry Thaddeus.”

My lady gave a slow smile. “Generous of him. But—as well perhaps, since 'twill prevent him from flirting with you himself, eh my love?”

“A gentleman does not flirt with his—little sister.”

Something about her granddaughter's twinkling eyes gave my lady pause. She said suspiciously, “Now what are you about, Mistress Mischief? I have marked how you tease him, and I warn you, Roland Mathieson is a very dangerous man! Both in matters of the sword and
l'amour.
By all means let him waste his efforts by playing matchmaker, if he's of a mind to do so, but tread carefully around him, child. I'd never forgive myself were you to be hurt.”

Fiona swooped down to hug her diminutive grandmama and plant a kiss on the rouged cheek. “Never fear, dearest. I am not so gauche but what I've learned that one always allows the gentlemen their little games.” She started down the steps and at the foot glanced back and said over her shoulder, “Is so much fun to watch them blunder about, poor dears, and then point out the error of their ways!”

“Why not?” demanded Mathieson, sitting on the grass beside the table and frowning up at Miss Bradford.

“Because,” she said, stirring busily at the large bowl, “I must make these.”

The afternoon sun woke golden gleams in her hair, especially on one little curl that danced above her temple. Watching this curl, he complained, “You always find something that
must
be done. I want to show you what I have accomplished with your peacocks. Is a lovely afternoon; your light o'love is away, and—”

“Freemon Torrey is not my light of love, sir!” She waved her spoon at him. “But an you do not stop aggravating him, there will be blows struck, and—”

“There have already been blows struck. Faith, but were I not such a trusting soul, I'd begin to suspect the gentleman don't like me.”

She looked at him sharply, saw the laughter in the dark eyes, and was won to a smile, but said, “I am serious, Roly.”

“Captain Mathieson,” he corrected primly. “Which is the very thing I want to talk about.”

“My manners, do you mean?” She glanced around the meadow. “Surely we do not have to stand on ceremony now that we are alone.”

Had any of Mathieson's
chères amies
uttered so encouraging a remark under such circumstances, he would immediately have turned it to good account. But not one of his lady loves would have said it in just that particular fashion. There was no flutter of eyelashes, no coquetry, no come-hither look. Fiona beamed at him, all innocence.

In return, he frowned at her. “An you say things like that to Freemon Torrey, 'tis small wonder he fancies himself in love with you.”

“Goodness me!” She rubbed her nose, thus leaving the tip white with flour. “I only said—”

“To tell a gentleman he need not stand on ceremony with you when you are alone together,” he pointed out severely, “is a very improper remark,
ma belle.
And you've put flour all over your nose.”

She lifted her apron to wipe the offending item, but her gown was caught up also and revealed a delicately formed little ankle. “Is that better?” she asked meekly.

“Much!” replied Mathieson, grinning. With an effort he tore his attention from the revelation. Flour now adorned her left ear. “No. Lord! Don't do that! Tidy your dress, do!”

Her second attempt to repair the damage had all but shown him her knees. Bewildered, she glanced down at the area that usually claimed the attention of the gentlemen.

“Not there,” he said, exasperated. “Your skirts! Gad, but our hot-blooded Torrey would be beside himself!”

“Oh.” She restored her gown, smiled at him sunnily and said, “Then how fortunate I am that you are so cold-blooded.”

He came to his feet with supple ease and advanced purposefully.

“I thought you meant—here.” Fiona gave herself a little pat, leaving flour all over her creamy bosom.

To all intents and purposes, they really were alone. Cuthbert and Lady Ericson were in her caravan, poring over some papers which Mathieson would have given much to see, and Alec, badly smitten with the shy Moira, was helping her shell peas and had eyes for no other.

Despite this however, Mathieson glanced about carefully, then shoved his handkerchief at her. “Dust yourself, child.”

She wiped without much effect at her nose and when he shook his head and pursed up his lips, she sighed and gave him back his handkerchief. “Am I making it worse? Well, you do it for me, please.”

He obliged with frowning concentration. It was a ridiculous nose. So tiny. Very much like Lady Clorinda's. Of course, Lady Clorinda had been a great beauty, whereas this exasperating chit … He paused, gazing down at the small face so trustingly uplifted. And he realized with something of a shock that Fiona
was
beautiful. Not in a classic Grecian way, perhaps. But in her own inimitable fashion she would put any classic beauty to shame. ‘Her beauty,' he thought, ‘comes from within. She is
such a happy, caring little mite …' Her lips were close and vivid, and slightly parted. Even as he leaned to them they curved to a smile.

“Did you get it all?”

He started, and recollecting his task, looked her over and saw the flour on the sweetly rounded breasts. Seldom had fate offered a finer opportunity. He reached willingly to oblige, only to be thwarted by an irritating reminder of her innocence. “Here,” he thrust the handkerchief at her. “You must do the—er, rest.”

She dusted busily, then blew downward.

Mathieson was obliged to look away. “What,” he croaked, convinced he was suffering from softening of the brain, “are you making?”

“Crumpets. 'Tis as well to cook them a little ahead of time and let them sit for a while.”

Reminded of last night's dinner, he grunted unkindly, “Not so long that they become petrified, one trusts.”

“You mean, like my dumplings.” She sighed. “I am not the world's best cook, alas.”

“You have no business cooking. You have no business being here at all! If I had my way—”

She folded her hands in front of her. “Yes, Captain Mathieson?”

He chuckled. “I'm glad to see you properly subdued.”

Her smile was rather wan and once more the sight of that small troubled face awoke in him a most unfamiliar and urgent desire to brighten it. “Never look so stricken Tiny Mite. Am I being utterly ruthless?”

“No, of course you're not.” She gave a forlorn gesture. “You only try to help. I know how—how clumsy I am at times, and you—”

“You are not in the least clumsy! You have a sweet and sunny nature, and if you—Well, what I mean is—I'd not have you exchange your innocence only to—” He scowled, and hesitated.

“To become a poised and properly behaved young lady? But—that is what I should be, surely? 'Tis what Papa would wish, I know. That I not behave in so—so gauche a way, I mean. And poor Grandmama quite throws up her hands over me. Is not grace and propriety what
you
would want in a lady, Roly?”

He thought of many of the ladies he knew, and his smile was twisted and mirthless. For no reason he could identify, he was irritated and impatient with her, and said with a bored shrug, “What I want has nothing to say in the matter. You must not look to me, child.”

She tilted her chin and remarked judicially, “'Tis difficult, I'll own.”

He grinned at that. “To look to me?”

“To look
at
you. Since we are in a critical mood, Ro—Captain Mathieson, I will admit that I could wish you were not
quite
so handsome. 'Tis rather unsettling, and although I know you are the last man to be conceited, it—” She checked as he gave a shout of laughter. “Oh, my! There I go again! Roly, you
must
help me, or I shall surely wind up an old maid!”

“Never,” he gasped, but his mirth faded into a scowl. “Oh, Gad! We
were
alone.”

“Picayune!” Fiona bent to pick up the vociferous little cat. “What is it, my precious?”

“Don't believe a word that wretched animal tells you.”

“She could have only good words for you, sir. Did you not save her life? Come now, Picky—say your thanks.” She held the cat out, and urged, “Do pray stroke her. You'll see how loving she can be.”

“I have not the faintest desire—” he began, but the smile in the green eyes overbore his better judgment, and he reached forth a tentative hand. “Ow!”

“Oh, dear!” Fiona set the cat down hurriedly. “Did she bite hard?”

“Hard enough! Dratted little pest. I wish I'd hit her this morning!”

“With the brick?”

“Brick? The de-deuce!” The dimple was peeping slyly at him. Fascinated by it, he muttered, “With my colichemarde, rather. I've a fancy for a fur cap.”

She laughed merrily. “Oh, what a rasper! 'Twas an apple core, merely. And thrown wide, at that.”

“How do you know, Miss Sauce? And you should not use cant terms.”

“Because I saw you, pseudo-rascal. And later, Thaddeus was laughing about it with my papa.” She crossed to the fire and began to ladle spoonfuls of the mix onto the smoking griddle slung above it. “He said Picayune was in your boot when you put it on, and she became a proper pincushion, which—ah, upset you.”

“The foul little brute tore my foot to shreds, if you care to know of it. But,” he added sardonically, “pray do not grieve so.”

She giggled irrepressibly. “Thaddeus said you howled like a banshee.”

He stood and wandered over to hold the bowl for her. “Did he indeed? You may be sure I'll repay him!”

“But of course. Probably by handing him over for summary execution.”

The carefree words were sobering and his jaw set. How glibly they chatted. As though there were no shadows over this golden afternoon. No shadow of block and axe. No shadow of the hoard of gold he meant to wrest from them for his own uses. This trusting child would find out about him then … by God, but she would! And what matter if she did? It was as well. She was
too
trusting by half, and the sooner she learned how cruel life could be, the better. Everyone had to grow up and face reality sooner or later.

“Oh, I am a horrid girl!” Fiona was gazing at him in dismay. “I was only funning! Truly, I did not mean it!” In her anxiety to make amends she rested her hand upon his arm “I know you like Thaddeus.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. As I've said, he would make you a good husband.” His smile bland, he enquired, “Should you like that?”