Good Earl Gone Bad (3 page)

Today was about pleasing herself and herself alone. She was preparing to make her good-byes before driving to take her place in the crowd of other club members' carriages, when Mainwaring, back in the saddle, addressed her.

“I take it these are the remarkable grays I've heard so much about,” he said, nodding toward where Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had begun to stamp their hooves in restlessness.

Hermione couldn't help but notice that Mainwaring's seat on his own horse was quite good. In buff breeches that outlined the strong muscles of his thighs and a bottle-green coat that looked as if it had been sewn onto his wide shoulders, he looked every bit the dashing nobleman. It didn't help that his keen blue eyes were watching her.

Shaking off her unwanted attraction to the man, she held his gaze. “They are, indeed. My pride and joy, and as much the reason for my presence here today as any skill on my part, I'd wager.”

Her self-deprecation must have surprised him, for he frowned and said, “I sincerely doubt that. I've seen you drive, Lady Hermione, and while I might wish you had chosen a safer pastime, even a nondriver like myself has to admit that you are skilled with the reins.”

The unexpected praise made her blink, and to her shame, she felt a blush creep into her cheeks. Since when did Mainwaring pay her compliments? “I … that is to say…”

Before she could finish stumbling through her awkward thanks, another rider approached to stop beside Mainwaring.

From the scowl on Mainwaring's face it was evident he was not pleased to see the newcomer.

“Lady Hermione,” said the dark-haired man, who had intruded on their conversation. “We haven't been formally introduced. I am Saintcrow. And I'm afraid we've got a bit of a dilemma.”

Hermione blinked. “I don't understand, Lord Saintcrow. We are not acquainted so I do not know how there might be any sort of trouble between us.”

“Might you not wait until after the meeting of the club has finished?” Mainwaring asked the other man through clenched teeth. Clearly there was no love lost between the two men, but what had provoked such a response from Mainwaring? “There is no need to cause a scene.”

“A scene about what?” Hermione asked, her stomach clenching at the possibilities as to what a public scene might pertain. “I assure you, gentlemen, I should rather know sooner than later.”

“The long and short of it, dear lady,” said Saintcrow with a shrug that seemed to convey he was not to blame, “is that your father wagered these splendid horses of yours at the gaming table last night and I was lucky enough to win them.”

As if the crowd had been waiting with bated breath for the announcement, a gasp wafted through the assembled onlookers. For the second time that day Hermione felt a sense of unreality—though this time it was because the circumstances were so horrible that she could not believe them to be truly happening.

“I don't believe you,” she said, her gloved hands clenching the reins, causing the horses in question to shake themselves as if in preparation for flight. “My father doesn't even own them. They are mine. Purchased with my own funds.”

“My dear girl,” Saintcrow said without much sympathy, “that is something you will need to work out between yourselves. I only know that he offered them to me as a fair wager and I accepted them. Though as your father, he doubtless does own everything you think of as your own. From that pretty confection of a hat to the gloves that you wear on those soft hands.”

“Can this be true?” Hermione asked Mainwaring, who had moved his horse to stand alongside the curricle, a show of protection that she was grateful for despite her usual annoyance with that sort of high-handedness. “Does my father truly own them despite the fact that I purchased them with my own funds?”

“I don't know,” Mainwaring said in a low voice. “But it is possible. We both know that the law is not particularly forgiving when it comes to ladies' property. Unless it is dispersed in marriage settlements or the like. And you did not inherit them from your mother's marriage portion, did you?”

Of course she hadn't, Hermione thought with frustration. She'd bought them from the funds she'd inherited from a distant aunt. But it was quite possible that her father could very well claim the funds for himself.

“You know I did not,” she said, panic welling as she realized that this stranger—no matter whether he was in the right or not—would take Rosencrantz and Guildenstern from her on the basis of her father's word alone. “But they are mine.”

“I'm afraid that's no longer true, Lady Hermione,” said Saintcrow, who gave a gesture with his hand, and soon was giving orders to a trio of grooms to take possession of Hermione's curricle. “Now, be a good girl and let these men take your grays along with the curricle. I will see to it that the vehicle is returned to your mews as soon as the horses are deposited into my own stables. You would not wish them to come to harm without any sort of harness, would you?”

“She is Lady Hermione,” said Mainwaring before Hermione could object, “and you will speak to her with the respect to which her rank and position entitle her.” She could see from the way Saintcrow flinched that he did not much care for the tone the earl had taken with him, but that didn't stop him from offering an apology.

“Of course, my regrets, Lady Hermione,” the viscount said, his dark eyes narrow with annoyance. Clearly he did not wish to make an enemy of Mainwaring, no matter how he might resent the other man's interference. “I am, of course, obliged for your grace during this difficult situation.”

It was at this point that the members of the Lords of Anarchy seemed to notice the disturbance. Though she had never been particularly fond of Lord Payne, Hermione felt a stab of relief when the big man steered over to get a better look at the situation.

“Is there a problem, Lady Hermione?” the club president asked, his own highly polished black and red equipage shining in the sunlight. “Is this fellow bothering you?”

She might be the first female member of the Lords of Anarchy, but that did not mean she was any less a member. And the club took care of its own.

“It seems that there is some misunderstanding between my father and Lord Saintcrow,” she said with what she hoped was enough of a damsel-in-distress look to earn more of Lord Payne's pity. She was not overly fond of manipulation as a form of getting things done, but her instinct was that Lord Payne would respond better to a soft word than bombast. “He thinks they belong to him now, which is patently false, since I purchased them myself with my own money.”

“False or not,” Saintcrow said showing his teeth, “I have your father's vowel from last night here. Which I would have shown you, Lady Hermione, had you been patient enough to wait for it.”

“Saintcrow,” said Mainwaring before Lord Payne could respond. “I should think that in the circumstances a gentleman would give the lady the benefit of the doubt. One does not wish, after all, to be thought boorish.”

Hermione waited with her heart in her throat to see if the combination of Lord Payne's brawn and Mainwaring's brains would convince Saintcrow to give up his claim.

But, it would appear, she was doomed to disappointment.

“Far be it for me to disagree with Mathematical Mainwaring,” said Saintcrow silkily, “but even a man as skilled at the tables as yourself should be able to see the way this particular game will end. I have her father's IOU, which you yourself saw him give to me last night. The rest we will simply have to let the courts decide. In the meantime, I will take possession of my new horses.”

“Perhaps it's best to do as the fellow says for now, Lady Hermione,” Lord Payne said with a frown. “The drive is about to begin and this business has delayed our procession for long enough. I feel sure that as soon as this is sorted out, you'll be able to ride out with us at our next meeting.”

All the good will Hermione had felt at having the club president by her side dissipated at his words. She might have known he'd abandon her at the first sign that her trouble would interrupt the club's revelry.

With a sigh, she handed the reins of her curricle to one of the burly grooms who'd accompanied Lord Saintcrow.

“Be sure to give them fresh oats,” she instructed as Mainwaring took her by the waist and lowered her to the ground beside her carriage. “And Rosencrantz is prone to strain in his left foreleg. A lineament of mint and rosemary can be made up without much trouble.”

She was grateful for Mainwaring's strong arm as he ushered her over to the Lisle carriage, and when he lifted her up to sit beside Ophelia, she couldn't help but notice he smelled pleasantly of bay rum and man. She closed her eyes at her own foolishness. Leave it to her to be diverted from losing her beloved grays by an attraction to a man she found at most times to be more maddening than a thunderstorm at a picnic.

“I believe this situation calls for a fortifying cup of tea,” said Leonora. “Let us repair to Craven House.”

And before she could even glimpse the procession of curricles get under way, Hermione found herself being spirited away from what had begun the day as a happy occasion. And more importantly, in the opposite direction of her precious coaching pair.

She hoped Leonora intended to fortify the tea with something stronger than just boiling water.

She'd earned it.

 

Two

“That was a particularly painful scene,” Trent muttered as he and Jasper rode alongside each other through Mayfair, en route to the Craven town house. “One might have thought Upperton would inform his daughter that he'd lost her prized horses in a game of cards before she was scheduled to drive said horses in the park.”

Jasper, who was finding it difficult to forget the expression on Lady Hermione's face when she realized just how her father had betrayed her, swore. “I should have sent her a note as soon as we left Wallingford's last night. At the very least she would have known her time with the beasts was limited. It was badly done of Saintcrow to embarrass her in front of her peers like that.”

“Peers?” Trent echoed with a frown. “Since when do you consider Lady Hermione—or any lady for that matter—as belonging in a club like the Lords of Anarchy? I thought you were dead set against ladies mixing with their ilk.”

It was a fair question, Jasper reflected, considering only a few months ago he'd been rather vocal about his objection to ladies like Hermione rubbing shoulders with the sort of men who belonged to driving clubs. It wasn't that he didn't think women were good enough drivers, far from it. Instead, his objection rested on far more practical grounds. The men who belonged to such clubs were unlikely to curb their coarse habits before any lady who was so bold as to seek membership among their order. He wished only to shield ladies like Hermione from such behavior.

Sometime over the last few months, however, he'd had a change of heart. Perhaps because through her dedication, Lady Hermione had proved to him that she was strong enough to withstand the sort of rough manners she would be exposed to as a club member. And that it was her own choice to make and not his. Or her father's.

“Lady Hermione Upperton is as capable a female as I've ever met,” he said now, to his skeptical friend. “And drives with more precision and care than any one of the men assembled today with the Lords of Anarchy. If anyone deserves to have their membership questioned, it's them, and not her.”

Trent whistled. “I am glad to hear you are so willing to unbend your antiquated views about the role of the gentler sex, my friend.” He laughed. “One might almost suspect you of having your views changed by repeated proximity to radical ladies like Lady Hermione, Miss Ophelia Dauntry, and Mrs. Frederick Lisle.”

“It's not as if I were all that stiff-rumped before,” Jasper said with a grimace. “I was simply persuaded by the evidence put before me. Like a mathematical proof, it was impossible not to note that one thing followed from the other.”

But he knew in his heart of hearts that he had been exactly that unbending. Likely because his own mother—the lady he knew best—was quite opinionated about how ladies should behave. And though his father, who had died while Jasper was still a youth, was known to have been liberal in his views about such things, his mother was not. And since his father's death, she'd only grown more conservative.

“I am pleased to hear it,” Trent said with a grin. “For I don't mind telling you I was beginning to wonder if you'd have done better as a vicar than a member of the peerage.”

“My mother would love that,” Jasper said with an answering grin. “Though I have a feeling she'd not take to the notion of giving up all the rights and privileges of being a countess with equanimity.”

They were approaching the Craven town house when Jasper saw a familiar figure on horseback waiting nearby.

“You have a message for me?” he asked the young man in military dress who lingered just far enough away from the carriage carrying Freddy, Leonora, Hermione, and Ophelia so that their conversation would not be overheard.

With a nod, the messenger gave Jasper a document boasting a familiar wax seal.

Instead of giving the reins of his horse to the waiting groom, Jasper remained on horseback and steered his mount to where the occupants of the carriage had just disembarked.

“I'm afraid I won't be able to stay,” he said with what he realized was real disappointment. He had wanted to explain what had happened last night with Hermione's father, and perhaps reassure her about what might be done to get her horses back. “I've just recalled a previous engagement.”

Hermione, he noted, betrayed a flash of disappointment before it was quickly masked behind an expression of polite indifference.

Curious.

Aloud he said, “Perhaps I'll see you all at the Comerford ball tonight?”