Miss Wonderful (21 page)

She
settled into the chair beside the bed and appeared to cudgel her
brains.

Alistair
sighed. "Pray don't tax your memory," he said. "The
scandals attached to my name are numerous."

Her
gaze returned to his face, and she tipped her head to one side to
study him.

He
was not used to women, to anyone, studying him so openly. He was not
used, he realized, to anyone's taking the trouble. No one else looked
deeper, past the elegant appearance and charm. He wondered uneasily
if anything of value existed beneath the polished surface.

"Do
all the scandals involve women?" she said.

"Yes,
of course. However—"

"Exactly
how many scandals? Or are they too numerous to count in your present
delicate state? Recollect you are not to tax your brain."

He
recalled his father's list. "Seven—no, eight,
technically."

"Technically."
Her expression was unreadable.

"One
scandal involved two women. But it was my last," he added. "And
it was nearly three years ago."

"Then
you are a reformed rake."

"To
reform, I must first be a rake, which I never was. Not that it
matters," he added irritably. "The difference between me
and a libertine will seem a mere technicality to you. You will
believe I am splitting hairs very fine, indeed. Not that you ought to
be thinking about such subjects, or that I had any business speaking
of my mistresses to a lady. I cannot imagine what possessed me to
mention the ballet dancer. I must have been addled. Perhaps it is
this infernally clean country air. I think it makes me giddy."

"Good
heavens, I did not intend to make you so agitated," she said.

"I
am not agitated," he lied. He was horny and frustrated. He was
the next thing to naked, confined to bed, with a half-dressed woman
within arm's reach—all this while the rest of the household was
sound asleep. He would defy a saint to remain serene in such
circumstances.

"Dr.
Woodfrey believes you suffer from a fatigue of the nerves," she
said.

"Nerves?"
Alistair repeated indignantly. "I have no nerves to speak of.
Ask anybody. I am the least excitable person you will ever meet."
After a pause, he added, "I admit I find you somewhat provoking.
But I think you do it on purpose—oh, not altogether. I suppose
you can't help that." He made an impatient gesture indicating
her hair and attire. "It is an affliction, like tone deafness."
He waved her off. "Now please go away."

She
smiled.

Oh,
no.

The
smile curled about his heart and squeezed it and threatened to
strangle the remnants of his reason. "You're amused," he
said accusingly. She didn't recognize the danger. She was in no way
on guard. He would have to guard them both—and really, it was
too much to ask, after such a day and night.

"I
find you amusing," she said. "You are the most amusing man
I have met in a very long time."

A
soft bed… a warm woman, laughing in his arms. His pulse was
racing.

His
gaze swept the room and fell upon the botany book her father had left
behind.

The
soporific book.

"Well,
if you can't tear yourself away, Miss Oldridge," he said,
"perhaps you would be so good as to read to me."

Chapter
8

CAPTAIN
Hughes arrived at Mrs. Entwhistle's domicile late Sunday morning.

When
the maid ushered him into the cozy parlor, the lady of the house
evidenced no great delight at seeing him.

She
appeared less pleased when he told her his errand.

"You
cannot be proposing that I appear, uninvited, on the Sabbath, with my
baggage, upon Mirabel's doorstep," the former governess said in
tones that had seldom failed to quell rambunctious pupils.

The
intimidating tone did not match the lady's appearance. She was not
tall and gaunt and dressed in severe black, but a plump, attractive
woman of middle height and middle age, prettily garbed in a ruffled
white morning dress and lacy cap.

The
neatly appointed parlor felt very small to the captain. True, he was
accustomed to the crowded quarters of a ship. He was also accustomed,
however, to being master of the vessel, having the windward side of
the quarterdeck entirely to himself, should he choose to walk about
and cogitate, and the freedom to climb aloft to the crow's nest if he
wished, should he feel the need to clear his head.

Feeling
overlarge and clumsy in Mrs. Entwhistle's neat parlor, he stood
stiffly by the chimneypiece, whence he dared not move lest he knock
something over. Since the look in her intelligent brown eyes did
nothing to put him at ease, he was not his usual coolly commanding
self.

"Dash
it, Flo—I mean, Mrs. Entwhistle, you know it won't occur to her
to invite you," he said. "She sent for Carsington's
manservant last night because it was the practical thing to do. But
she isn't accustomed to consider proprieties. The neighbors'll
consider 'em, though. You know that as well as I do. All the Peak
knows her father isn't a proper chaperon."

"You
said Mr. Carsington is incapacitated."

"He
has a sprained ankle and a bump on the head," said Captain
Hughes. "If you think this would incapacitate an otherwise
healthy young aristocrat, you're naive beyond permission. I trust I
needn't explain to you what such fellows' morals are like."

"His
morals don't signify," said Mrs. Entwhistle. "But perhaps
you are implying that Mirabel is so weak-willed—or perhaps
love-starved—as to forget her own? Pray sit down. You ought not
make a lady crane her neck to look at you."

He
sought the chair farthest from hers and perched uneasily on its edge.
"You think I'm officious," he said. "A meddler."

"I
am not certain what to think," she said. "Perhaps you are
jealous."

For
a moment he stared at her in plain disbelief. Then he let out a roar
of laughter.

She
did not so much as crack a smile.

"D'ye
think so, truly?" he said. "Well, whether it's so or not,
that don't change the facts, madam. The fact is, people gossip, and
they like nothing better than cutting up others' reputations. Fond as
most of the neighborhood is of Miss Oldridge, and understanding of
her situation, they're too human to resist scandal. You know we've
precious little scandal in Longledge, which means the smallest
particle goes a long way."

"It
is absurd to imagine Mirabel would commit an indiscretion," the
lady said coldly.

The
captain's patience deserted him. "I hope you won't be so fatuous
as to tell me she's past it," he said. "A spinster Miss
Oldridge may be, but she's far from a dried-up one. Besides which—not
to mince matters—she's still young enough to breed. Which means
she's by no means too old to be seduced—or suspected of it.
That's good enough for the tongue waggers."

The
lady glared at him.

Over
the course of a not exactly smooth-sailing naval career, Captain
Hughes had been glared at by admirals and boards of inquiry. While
Mrs. Entwhistle's cross look got under his skin more than those of
thick-headed naval authorities and politicians had ever done, he was
a crusty old salt who could bear it for as long as she chose to
inflict it.

"I
shall write a letter, tactfully hinting at proprieties," the
lady said at last. "If Mirabel chooses to invite me, I shall go.
I cannot possibly invite myself."

"What
nonsense!" said the captain. "I'm inviting you."

"Oldridge
Hall isn't your house, though you seem to run tame in it," she
said.

"What
a stickler you've come to be!" he said. "Was that
Entwhistle's influence? You used to be so jolly. So was Miss
Oldridge, when you were there. You were exactly what the girl needed.
I always said so. It was clear enough to me, being away so much. I
could see the difference when I came home, the first time, after Mrs.
Oldridge died."

Mrs.
Entwhistle leapt up from her chair, ruffles fluttering. "I wish
I saw a difference in you!" she cried. "You are as great a
booby as ever. Mirabel is one and thirty years old. A handsome young
man has practically fallen into her lap—and you fret about
protecting her virtue. What about her happiness?"

For
a moment the captain was so astonished, he forgot his manners.
Belatedly, he rose, too. "I say, Flora—I mean, Mrs.
Entwhistle—are you matchmaking?"

She
lifted her dimpled chin. "I prefer to think of it as letting
Nature take her course."

"In
my experience, Nature ain't at all reliable," the captain said.
"If she was, ships wouldn't need sails or rudders, would they?"