The Mandarin of Mayfair (4 page)

"I never pant! Furthermore, he is not a 'someone,' he's an 'it.'" Pushing the affectionate "ex-dog" away Falcon exchanged the pistol for a handkerchief and wiped his chin. "Damn you, Apollo, I don't want my face washed! You see what's happened since you taught him to play, madam? He's always ready for a game. I vow were the Squire and all his murderous lieutenants to march in here this instant thirsting for my blood, this idiot brute would roll over and grin at 'em!"

She put the book aside. "I suppose," she said, with a martyred sigh, "I shall have to roast the chestnuts myself."

"Oh, get on with your reading." He sat down and took up the pan once more. "I cannot shoot him now, at all events. His yard of tongue has likely wet the powder and I'll have to reload."

Gwendolyn sat back and opened her book. Instead of reading, however, she watched the man half-turned from her. Even engaged in so plebeian a task, he was all lithe grace. A superbly tailored coat of dove gray embellished with quantities of silver braid hugged his broad shoulders. Small silver birds were embroidered on his pale blue waistcoat, and dove gray satin breeches revealed long muscular legs. His jet black hair was worn powdered today, which seemed but to emphasize the classic perfection of his features; the strong, straight nose and high-cut cheekbones, the heavy flaring brows, rather thin but well-shaped lips, the firm chin. Only his slightly sallow complexion and the hint of the Orient in the shape of his eyes betrayed his mixed blood. But they were magnificent eyes, she thought; wide and deep-set, fringed with long curling lashes, and so dark a blue as to appear almost black. What a pity that although he was not yet thirty, he must be so rigidly immovable in the matter of his lovely sister and poor Jamie—

"Well?" he said, without turning.

She looked down at once. "I am reading."

"No you're not. You're staring at me. I can feel your eyes— like spears in my back! What have I done now?"

"Lud, what conceit! You suppose that every lady in London must gaze at you!"

"Why should they not? I don't begrudge them a sight of manly perfection."

"Hah!" snorted Gwendolyn. "Rather than dignify such blatant conceit, I will read you something that—"

"Oh, no you don't! I'm unhappily aware of how you delight to irritate me by flaunting books about China under my nose!"

"It should be a point of interest rather than an irritant. I am in fact astonished by what I have learned. For instance, did you know that during the T'ang Dynasty—that was in the eighth century A.D…" She glanced up when he made no comment and saw that he had put the pan down and held both hands over his ears. She chuckled, and went on, "While we in the British Isles were largely unlettered and primitive and forever waging war 'gainst each other, in China they already had poets, and skilled painters and beautiful porcelains. They had discovered printing, also—is that not incredible? And thousands of books were published and sold to students—
students
!—at low prices so that they might qualify for civil service examinations! And they had invented raincoats and had found a breed of horses said to have danced to music. And then, in the Sung Dynasty—that would be about the year A.D. 1005—the emperor had a one-thousand-volume encyclopaedia printed and there is a bee on your neck."

At this warning, spoken with no change in tone, Falcon started and instinctively jerked a hand to his throat.

Gwendolyn laughed merrily. "I knew you were listening, though why you should pretend not to I cannot fathom. How can you be ashamed of ancestors who seem to have gone on a good deal better than the rest of the—"

"Madam," he said through his teeth, "when I require to be educated I shall return to University! Meanwhile, I would
politely
request that you confine your extremely dull lectures to my sister. And possibly Tummet. And—leave—me—in— peace!" Still glaring at her, he snatched up the pan so violently that several chestnuts escaped and he had to scramble to retrieve them. From the corner of his eye he saw the swift flash of dimples beside Gwendolyn's generous mouth, but she said nothing, bowing her head over her book in a chastened attitude he thought extremely suspicious.

Briefly, the room was quiet save for the pleasant sounds of the fire and the occasional rushes of wind in the chimneys.

Gwendolyn frowned, and asked suddenly, "Pray, what is meant by 'li'?"

"
Confound
that book!" thought Falcon. He grunted. "I should think that by now even you would realize that I have not the slightest interest in—"

"Oh, don't be stuffy, August. It says here that Confucius believed in the principle of 'li.' I am sure you must have learned something of his teachings, even if only at school."

"You are mistaken, ma'am."

"I think not. Though
you
are mistaken on one point. Or the tale has come down to you in a scrambled way, perchance." She paused, her brow wrinkling thoughtfully as she gazed at the printed page.

"You waste your time with such silly tricks," sneered Falcon. "I've not the least intent to ask what you're jabbering at."

"No, because you're afraid I may be right. But I am too generous to deny sharing what I have learned. 'Tis my understanding that your maternal great-grandmama was a Russian princess, who married a Chinese Mandarin of great wealth. Correct?"

He stiffened. "I believe I have never been so gauche as to enquire about
your
ancestors, madam. Who were doubtless," he added savagely, "a lot of murderous wolfs-heads."

"Oh, very likely," she agreed with maddening amiability. "Only the
reason
you do not ask is that you are such a care-for-nobody and have not a shred of interest in other people." She pursed her lips and added, "Still, I'm bound to admit our family history is really quite dull. Yours is not. But—"

"Since you find it so interesting, you are doubtless aware of the Falcon motto and should pay heed to it."

"
Dieu et Mon Droit
?" she said innocently.

He had to fight a grin. "No. I believe that one was taken by some commoners."

"Oh, ho," she said, laughing at him. "To insult the Crown is treason, sir! Have a care! No, do not scowl so, August, or your eyebrows will get knotted together and you'll never be able to smile again. Your family motto is 'We Avenge.' " Taking advantage of his astonishment, she went on quickly, "But the thing is, it makes no sense, do you see? From all I have been able to discover of China—which sadly is very little—they allow no 'Ocean People,' as they call Westerners, into the country, and no Chinese are permitted to leave. How, then, could your great-grandfather possibly have married a Russian princess?"

The amusement had faded from Falcon's eyes. For a moment he was rigidly still, then he said harshly, "Ah, but you have found us out, Miss Snoop, and may wallow in the scandalous truth. Great-grandpapa never did wed the princess. In fact, I wonder you've not noticed that my mama's maiden name was the same as that of her spouse. It shames me to own it, but Katrina and I are, alas, bastards!" From under his lashes he slanted a glare at her shocked face. "Are you satisfied at last, madam?"

"If ever I heard such stuff! Your family is large, with branches spread over half the globe, so Katrina told me. Your Grandmama Natasha married Sir Geoffrey Falcon, who was an Ambassador or some such, then living in Paris. Their daughter, Miss Francine Falcon, married Mr. Neville Falcon. In fact, that is how your parents first met—they discovered they were distant cousins, and—"

He said irritably, "Oh, have done, for heaven's sake!"

"Yes, well I will. But—were you not so abominably proud—"

"I am an abominable man. And since I have finished my cookery, I will withdraw and allow you to ponder the mystery of me to your heart's content. I should warn you, however, 'gainst getting your hopes too high. Many other ladies have— dropped the handkerchief in my direction."

He bowed and left her and went along the corridor grinning and triumphant because his outrageous declaration had, for once, rendered her speechless. She would recover her wits at any second, of course, and hasten to hurl some set-down at him. That it would be a splendid set-down, he had no doubt. '
Dieu et Mon Droit
… He chuckled. She'd scored with that sally, the wretch. He slowed, listening. But there came no hurried and uneven footsteps; no furious assessment of his conceit. Beginning to be a touch uneasy, he halted. Had he perhaps been too sharp with her? He'd become so accustomed to their verbal duels that he did not always treat her with the deference a gentleman should show a lady. Which was her own fault for teasing him so unmercifully that his temper was apt to get the better of him. She wasn't coming, that was evident. Oddly, Apollo had not followed, either.

Frowning, he retraced his steps and walked very softly back into the morning room.

Gwendolyn was still seated in the chair. Apollo sat in front of her with his unlovely head on her knee, and she was pulling his ear absently as she gazed into the fire. She looked, thought Falcon, almost like a child; small and vulnerable. He took a chestnut from the pan and tossed it into her lap.

In the nick of time she snatched it from Apollo's attention and turned, smiling sunnily. "Thank you, kind sir. Did you come to rescue me from starvation?"

He threw one leg over the arm of the sofa and perched there, watching her. "I was curious to know why—having given you a perfect opportunity to deal me a fine set-down— you let it slide past."

She concentrated on peeling the nut. "I am preparing my counter-attack. Beware."

"No you're not. You're worrying. Why waste your time in such a senseless pursuit? Your brother is perfectly able to take care of himself. You should be glad that he came home safe from the war."

"Can you think I am not glad? Heaven knows how often we nigh lost Gideon during the terrible year he spent in hospital."

"Yet despite all your miserizing, he survived and is now wed, poor fellow, and appears to be alive again. A prime cause for rejoicing, instead of which, woman-like, you must continue to wallow in maudlin moping!"

She flushed and said heatedly, "There is no such word as 'miserizing,' as you know very well! And can you really expect me to rejoice because my dear brother is out of the frying pan and into the fire? Am I to dance with joy because he dares stand in opposition to an evil secret society which is now sworn to destroy him?"

Falcon's heavy brows twitched into a black bar across his nose. "Be damned if I ever expected to see you turn into a professional mourner! Should you rather we stood aside and let that band of aristocratic maniacs create their murder and mayhem and seize control of the government unopposed?"

"No, of course not, but…" Troubled, she watched the flames and said slowly, "The League is so
powerful
, August! 'Tis dreadful to think of the families they have wiped out, only so as to seize their estates! The honourable gentlemen they have entrapped and slandered and dragged to prison or brought to despair and self-destruction! All the lives lost at sea when they've deliberately destroyed great ships so as to steal the cargoes!" Apollo edged closer and nudged her hand, and she pulled his ear again and murmured almost to herself, "I know there was more to that horrible business in Cornwall than you have told us."

Falcon started and fixed her with a keen stare.

"If only someone in power would
listen
to Gideon's warnings!" she went on. "For him to try to stand 'gainst them all alone is—"

At this, his eyes opened very wide and he interposed with considerable resentment, "
Alone
, is it! 'Faith, but you dismiss the rest of us lightly, Madam Glummery!" He ignored her attempted apology, and added a thoughtful, "But in all honesty I must admit that you're justified to some extent. Jamie Morris, for instance, don't count for much, and Perry Cranford's of little use, since he hops about on a peg-leg. As for—"

Gwendolyn had just popped the chestnut into her mouth and was unable to do more than splutter an incensed, "Ooh!"

"As for Furlong," he continued blandly, "You're correct in believing him
utterly
worthless. Any man who—"

"Odious! Unkind…
creature
?' panted Gwendolyn, choking down the nut and springing up, her eyes sparkling with wrath. "I meant nothing of the sort, as you know perfectly well! You will
never
find a good word for Jamie Morris, will you? Though he is the best and kindest of—"

"The best and kindest of nincompoops, who thinks nothing of firing off his pistol at any fellow who chances to ride up when—"

"That was months ago! And it was night, and he mistook you for a highwayman, as well you know! But although he explained and begged your pardon—"

"While I lay bleeding at his feet!"

"—you mean to force him to a duel—which will be as good as murder! Much you care if—"

"Tit for tat, my child. Besides which, Gideon won't let Ja— Morris give me satisfaction till this League business is done with."

"And you cannot wait to slay him, even though 'twill break your sister's heart! You know poor Jamie worships Katrina! And—"

"So do half the men in London, but that don't make 'em worthy of her hand. Do you really fancy I'd let her throw her lovely self away on
that
dimwit? Never!"

"And how
dare
you think I do not value Peregrine Cranford?" she swept on, temporarily abandoning that bone of contention. "Only because he lost a foot while serving his country? He is a splendid young man and a wondrous fighter, foot or no!"

"Faith, but you should have been a lawyer, ma'am! I am agog to hear how you will defend Owen Furlong, whose infatuation with a pretty face lost us the one piece of evidence that could have destroyed the League!"

"If you had one
speck
of kindness or understanding in that draughty void where should rest your heart, you'd not sneer at poor Owen! He adored Maria Barthelemy, and she was not merely pretty! She was—is—very beautiful, and Owen gave her his heart never dreaming she was a scheming spy! Oh, how
can
you be so harsh and unforgiving?"