Emma Jensen - Entwined (27 page)

It was barely noon, but the paths and promenades were already jammed.

By the fashionable hour of five, Nathan imagined people would be resorting to climbing the trees for a bit of space. A flashily painted tilbury bounced past, causing his mount to sidestep quickly. Another rider, for some reason turning his mount in tight, repeated circles, was forced to jerk away to avoid a collision.

Grumbling to himself, Nathan calmed his horse and scanned the surrounding vistas for a clear spot. All he could see was an oscillating blur of gilt and rainbow-hued fabrics.

"Hasn't London anything better to do?" he muttered. "I am certain there is a new cravat knot to be discovered and a frippery or two as yet unsold."

William chuckled. "Activities for poor weather. Such a sunny day is by divine decree intended for display of yesterday's cravat knot and Prussian bonnet."

They had been riding a slow circuit for nearly an hour now, and Nathan was ready to be gone. His brother's spontaneous invitation to ride had seemed a good idea. He wanted very much to encounter Rotheroe and St.

Wulfstan. He doubted either would openly admit any knowledge of the previous night's attack, but if there was one skill he had learned during his tenure of ferreting out spies, it was how to conduct a subtle interrogation.

Of course, both of the men he meant to interrogate were just as skilled as he.

So far that morning, he had encountered countless acquaintances who had heard of his near encounter with a knife. None had been able to offer any information whatsoever. There had been numerous comments on his luck at avoiding a nasty attack from a petty thief, more welcomes on his return to Town, and felicitations on his marriage—some made even without the sly commiseration common to both bachelors and other married men.

There had not been an intelligent comment among the lot.

"Nathan?"

William's voice cut into his musings.
"Hmm?"

"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

"Of course I have. You were talking about... about..."

"Ostrich plumes."

"Ostrich plumes. Yes."

His brother grunted good-naturedly. "Really, Nat. As if I would be bothered to discuss anything so absurd. No, I was telling you about my latest experiment."

"Ah, yes. The Welsh ale. Have you taken it upon yourself to improve this batch, too?" He vaguely remembered a three-day-long stomachache and winced at the memory.

"It wasn't half bad!" was his brother's indignant retort. "You downed a full tankard."

"So I did."

"Oh, I recognize that face, old man. You inherited it from our sire. But I shall let the slight pass. As a matter of fact, it isn't ale at all, but gunpowder..." Nathan's attention flitted off again. "Bother that. You don't want to hear it." William waved off his brother's halfhearted demurral. "I don't suppose you'd care to share whatever matters are occupying
your
mind."

"I..."
I'm blind as a bat, little brother, and there is the distinct possibility
that someone wants me dead as well.
For a fleeting second, Nathan debated telling Will everything. Pride, and the knowledge that he would only be dragging the rest of his family into the mess, killed the impulse. "It is nothing of importance."

"If you say so." William seemed content to believe him. "Shall we have a bit of a gallop?"

Nathan peered dubiously at the collision course that was the Row. "I am not sure that would be such a good idea." But William was gone, his scarlet coat a blurry beacon as his horse wove in and out among others. "Well, damn," Nathan muttered, and followed.

Chiron, Nathan's stallion, was up to the task, dodging obstacles with ease. Nathan himself was not quite so secure, however. Keeping his seat was not his real problem. Keeping his seat while holding his brother in his poor sights and tossing vague apologies to those persons dusted or pushed from the path was the challenge. Finesse was optional.

Even as he began to enjoy the hell-for-leather ride, Nathan knew he must make an odd sight indeed: the Marquess of Oriel, careening along a park road, bobbing about like a buoy in the saddle and muttering "sorry,"

"so sorry," "I do apologize," as he went. His only hope was that he would not address his regrets to more than one or two bushes.

He swore as something slapped at his arm. He had not seen the branch—or whatever it had been. It was near impossible to see anything when his already impaired eyes were being rattled about in his skull.

Ahead, William shouted something that sounded distressingly like

"Water!" and, indeed, veered away toward the Serpentine. Nathan could only hope he did not have some impromptu bathing in mind. It would be entirely like William to ride his horse right into the lake.

On his own part, any submersion would be unintentional. Jaw set, Nathan tightened his grip and managed to stay mounted when Chiron followed William's horse over a low bench. All in all, demonstrating his ability was proving to be decidedly hard on his bones.

He kept his eyes on the sun-speckled water as they thundered along the bank. Not that it would make much of a difference should he go sailing toward it, but he knew that a wise man always did his best to know the position of the enemy. When William reined in suddenly, Chiron jolted and came to a shuddering halt. Nathan bounced a few times in the saddle, bruising both his posterior and his pride.

"If you want the title, Will," he grumbled while regaining his balance,

"why not just shoot me and be done with it? There is every chance I would survive a fall."

His brother laughed. "I shall keep that in mind." Then, "I say, Nat, whatever happened to that demon horse you bought at Tattersall's last year?"

Nathan frowned. He had purchased the ill-tempered, wild-eyed chestnut gelding mere days before his voyage to Portugal and had completely forgotten about it since. Now, with embarrassment born of regret, he found himself hoping it had not killed whichever unfortunate groom had been assigned to exercise it.

"I suppose it is still in the stables. Why?"

"Well, I could be mistaken, but I do believe it is coming toward us at a rather impressive clip."

"Impossible." Nathan's chin jerked around, but all he could see was a blur of oscillating color.

"Oh, my. Look! It has just sent the Richmond sisters scattering like hens. And there goes Allenham. Serves him right, putting racehorses to his phaeton. I daresay they'll stop before they reach Brighton. And out the gate they go! I must say, Nat, she has a dashed fine seat. Not a woman in fifty could manage that beast. Still, whatever were you thinking, giving her the chestnut?"

"William, what are you blathering about?"

"Your wife, of course. Can you not see her?"

Nathan concentrated on looking for copper hair and finally saw a bright flash. Yes, it was Isobel, and it appeared she was riding with the speed and carelessness of one fleeing the devil. Of course, she could not be fleeing the devil. She was riding him.

"I think," Nathan said, "I will have to throttle her."

"I wouldn't advise it, old trout. She's become quite the thing. Your estimable peers would hang you in an instant."

"Oh, cork it, William," Nathan snapped, and turned Chiron in Isobel's direction. He had no idea what she was doing riding alone through Hyde Park, but he was certainly going to find out.

Isobel watched him ride toward her, greatly relieved to see him in one piece. Her pleasure dimmed, however, at the sight of his expression. His features, harsh on most days, were drawn into a scowl guaranteed to terrify small children, indolent servants, and recalcitrant wives. Isobel, not placing herself among any of the three, smiled as she reined her mount to a jerky halt.

"Good day, my lord, William. What splendid weather we are having!"

"Where is your groom?" Nathan snapped.

"I haven't one. Where is yours?"

Apparently blithe insolence was not the correct choice. Nathan's scowl deepened.

"Why are you not at home? You are supposed to be at home."

"I heard you had come to the park and thought I would join you." She saw William's eyes darting between them and read the surprised speculation there. "I am sorry," Isobel said, as confused as her brother-in-law. "Have I interrupted a private brotherly interlude?"

"Not at all," William insisted. "We are delighted to see you."

"Damn it, Isobel, have you any idea what sort of beast you have there?"

She raised one eyebrow. "What sort of beast
do
I have, my lord? A surly one, from what I can tell."

She thought William's cough was meant to cover his laughter. Nathan aimed a steely glare in his brother's direction, and he blinked and turned in the saddle, apparently finding the tree to his right especially fascinating.

"Isobel," Nathan growled, "that horse is a menace. He is mean, unpredictable, and liable to bite without the least provocation."

She sighed. So that was it, was it? As pleasant as it was to have him concerned for her, it was absurd. "It seems I've an affinity for such creatures." She reached down to pat the horse's lathered neck. "As it happens, Aingeal and I have found a meeting of the minds."

"Ankle? You named my horse
Ankle?"

"I did. The groom said he had no name, so I gave him one."

"But Ankle?"

She could not help grinning. " 'Tis Gaelic, Nathan." She spelled it for him. "It means 'angel.' "

He snorted. "Your humor escapes me, Isobel. This
angel
is likely to be the death of us both."

Actually, she was rather pleased with the name. "It means 'fire,' too, so you may cease with the scowling."

"Name aside, you should not be on that horse. In fact, you should not be here at all, alone. I'm going to sack that damned irresponsible groom the minute we get home."

"Och,
Nathan, you'll do no such thing. 'Twas the only horse suitable for riding in the stable, and I couldn't see why I should drag a groom away from his more important duties merely to escort me to the park."

"Escorting you
is
his duty!"

He was blustering now, and she wondered just what would happen if she were to comment on the unmistakable resemblance he bore to his father. She didn't think he would be flattered. "You haven't had your breakfast, have you?"

"What?"

"I daresay the lads chased you out before you could eat. 'Tis an empty stomach venting at me."

William's laughter rang out. Apparently he had expended the aesthetics of the tree. "You know my brother well indeed, Isobel. Yes, Nathan, do tell us.
Have
you eaten today?"

For a moment, Isobel thought they were both in for a blast of temper.

But after a tense moment, Nathan's face relaxed into a faint smile. Then he chuckled. "The devil take you both. It is wholly unfair to gang up on a fellow before he has dined."

"Ah, I knew it!" Isobel said, and laughed with him.

The sound sent memories of the night before sliding sinuously into Nathan's mind. Any pique he might have been able to stubbornly maintain was lost to images of Isobel, her hair spread like fired silk against the pillows and her body liquid flame beneath him.

He shifted edgily in the saddle and managed a stern "You will not ride that beast again, Isobel."

"Will you supply me with an alternative beast to ride, then?"

That voice, that husky, lilting voice, left him with no illusions of what she meant. His Alba rose had not merely opened; she had blossomed with a glory that took his breath away.

"It will be a husband's gift to his wife. Will that suit you?"

"You know it will."

Every nerve ignited, Nathan shifted again and wondered what would happen if he were to haul her out of her saddle into his and take off at breakneck speed for home. Public spectacle aside, he would probably end up breaking both their necks. Aroused, frustrated, and as gloriously content as he had ever been, he eased Chiron around a prancing Aingeal and led the way along the path. The gelding did indeed seem to have calmed a bit, whether by time or Isobel's influence. He should not have been surprised.

She had a way with stubborn, antisocial creatures.

"Nathan tells me your brothers have arrived from the country," William offered a few minutes later. Nathan had forgotten he was there. He wondered just how much the insolent sod was enjoying himself.

"Aye, they have," Isobel replied. "Their visit was—"

"Unexpected," Nathan said grimly.

"It was that. But Rob told me how very warmly you welcomed them, my lord. I vow they'll have settled in by now."

The image set his teeth on edge. The only person less welcome in his home than Geordie and Rob MacLeod was their father, and Nathan was still not convinced, even though both boys had denied it, that the man was not hot on their heels.

"I should very much like to meet them," William was saying.

"What a grand idea. Don't you think so, Nathan? Your brother can take mine under his wing, show them about Town."

"Isobel," he began.

"Aye, a grand idea. I can trust you to keep them away from the tailors, Will, can't I? They've a penchant for awful waistcoats."

"Isobel..."

"Trust in me, madam. I vow there will not be a single waistcoat added to your household during their stay."

Nathan gave up. He wondered at the precise moment when he had lost control over his life. A month earlier, he would have said it was in Portugal.

Now he had a very good idea that it had occurred somewhere in the middle of his wedding vows.

Oddly, the concept bothered him not at all.

Half an hour later, he was ready to tear out his hair. When in God's name had his life slipped completely out of his control? He had nearly gone tip over tail on entering his very spacious, very familiar foyer. Sometime during his brief absence, it had sprouted a frightening abundance of boxes.

"Milch!" he bellowed.

"Yes, my lord?" The butler scuttled forward. At least Nathan thought it was the butler. He seemed to have grown decidedly stocky since morning.