Yankee Earl (15 page)

      
Harry looked up from the girondale looking glass where she had been adjusting her bonnet. “Rachel, I recognize that tone. What mischief are you planning?”

      
“Why, dear sister, whatever do you mean? I am planning nothing at all.”

      
There's a clanker if ever I heard one,” Harry replied, studying the gleam in Rachel's eyes. “Before you do something precipitous and most improper, I shall take this man's measure for myself.”

* * * *

      
“Do you think Miss Fairchild's family will like me?” Fox asked Jason nervously as they rode to Harleigh Hall.

      
Keeping a close eye on them, Mace, the body servant and Bradley, the riding instructor, followed right behind.

      
The boy had been questioning Jason about Rachel since he arrived at Falconridge two days ago. He was still smitten with puppy love of the highest order. “I'm certain her sister and brother-in-law will like you, Fox,” he replied, smiling. "The viscount, you've already won over."

      
“Yes, he was ever so nice to me when he visited Grandfather last month. I wish he had brought Miss Fairchild along, though.”

      
“You shall see her soon enough,” Jason replied.

      
“Grandfather says you shall be married in the early fall. I can hardly wait for the ceremony, Jace.”

      
Fox had not asked directly about being in the wedding, but Jason knew that the boy was hoping to be included. How could he explain the situation without giving the lad too much information this soon? If Fox's infatuation with Rachel had not complicated matters, he might risk explaining their plan for escape now. But the boy had also become quite attached to the old marquess as well. What if Fox accidentally let something slip to their grandfather? Jason had tried to avoid the topic as much as possible.
What a tangle this has grown into,
he thought, rubbing his arm. The injury was almost healed; but if he lived to be one hundred, Jason would never forget Rachel tending it.

      
Searching for some way to shift the topic, he said, “Do you ever miss home?”

      
Fox shrugged. “Sometimes I miss Mama Beaumont and my Shawnee cousins, but there is so much to do here, and to learn. Grandfather still cheats at chess, but sometimes he lets me win. One day I suppose I shall return, but…”

      
Jason waited as the boy's voice faded away. “You're thinking of your parents, aren't you?”

      
“Aye. Do you still miss your father?”

      
Jason nodded. “You never forget those you love, but the pain of the loss fades with time. Only be patient, Fox, and you will heal.”

      
Most of Fox's family, white and Indian, had died in the epidemic. The boy had been rootless and melancholy for the year after. It was small wonder he had stowed away on Jason's ship, looking for a grand adventure. What did surprise Jason was the bond that had grown so quickly between the boy and the marquess.

      
If you're only using Fox to control me, pretending to care about him, Grandfather, you shall pay dearly, dearly indeed,
Jason vowed grimly, as the boy began to chatter about the brusque old marquess. Fox believed the sun rose and set on George William Beaumont.

      
“See ahead, there is Harleigh Hall,” Jason said, pointing to the sprawling stone manor house set in the valley below them.

      
“Oh, it is beautiful—just perfect for Miss Fairchild,” Fox replied in a hoarse whisper.

      
Jason watched the boy's eager face light up at the prospect of seeing his angel again. What in hell was he going to do about this whole damn mess? Just then Fox kicked his horse into a gallop, yelling, “I'll race you, Jace!”

      
“You're learning to cheat just like Grandfather!” Jason yelled back, allowing the boy the advantage since his small gelding was no match for Araby. As Jason spurred the big stallion after Fox, he watched his foster brother ride, bending low over the horse's neck, moving as one with the big animal.
Bradley must be teaching him well,
he thought. The boy had had little opportunity to ride while his parents were alive.

      
From the portico on the east wing of the house, Rachel and Harry watched the two riders coming down the meadow pell mell, followed by two others who did not appear to be participants in the contest. Those must be the “tutors” she and Jason would have to deal with, Rachel thought.

      
“They are riding quite recklessly,” Harry said with a delicate shudder. She was terrified of horses and always lagged behind during a hunt, hugging her saddle in white-faced misery, although she would not miss the socializing for the world. Rachel seldom participated because she felt it a bloody unfair contest with two dozen hounds and even more riders charging after one poor beast.
 

      
“Tis Jason and Fox racing,” Rachel said, shielding her eyes from the sun. Her heart began to drum hard, keeping cadence with the hoof beats as the riders drew near.

      
“Oh, they are going too fast,” Harry murmured worriedly.

      
Melvin came up behind his wife, placing his hands reassuringly on her shoulders as he said, “Tut, m'dear, nothing to worry about.”

      
"I'm not so sure," Rachel said. "That stretch is overgrown with warrens. The dogs are forever chasing and digging there for rabbits." She walked swiftly to the steps and started down, muttering about blocked-headed males and their recklessness. The two riders were neck and neck now, nearing the end of the drive. She yelled for them to rein in; but before either of them could respond, Fox's mount stumbled suddenly, pitching the boy over its neck. The horse went down, but rolled to its side and regained its footing. The boy did not move.

      
Jason turned his horse instantly and slid from his back in one smooth movement, racing to where Fox lay. He fell to his knees and reached for the boy, crying his name over and over.

      
“Don't move him!” Rachel yelled as she picked up her skirts and raced toward them. “You might make any injury worse.”

      
Jason looked up at her, and the anguish on his face squeezed the breath from her body. As she knelt beside them, she could see his large, strong hands trembling. “Here, let me check his pulse,” she said gently, moving his hand away from the boy's head so she could touch his throat. “Tis good and strong.” She gently examined his limbs and most especially his neck. “He seems to have no broken bones, although a hard blow to the head can often cause loss of consciousness. His neck is not broken.”

      
“I never should have let him ride so fast. He's not used to handling such a large mount. He's inexperienced, and I raced him,” Jason murmured to himself, every syllable tortured.

      
“From what I saw, 'twas Fox who instigated the race. There is no way to keep boys from being boys, Jason,” Rachel said with compassion.

      
“But I—”

      
Just then Fox emitted a weak cough and opened his eyes, blinking as he stared up into Jason's pale face.

      
“Fox, you're awake! Thank God!” Jason whispered hoarsely as the boy sat up.

      
“Sorry I fell, Jace. Is Little Chief all right?” the boy asked worriedly, looking over to where his gelding stood munching on tall meadow grasses.

      
“Bugger Little Chief. He's fine. 'Tis you I was worried about,” Jason choked out.

      
Rachel watched in surprise as he took the boy in his arms and rocked back and forth, holding him as tenderly as any mother would. There were tears of relief glistening in his eyes as he finally released the lad. As was the foolish way of men, he turned his head to blink back the evidence while Fox spied Rachel and stammered embarrassed greetings, apologizing for his poor horsemanship. As she assured him that being tossed over the head of a falling horse did not in any way make him a poor rider, Mace and Bradley reined in a respectful distance away.

      
Bradley leaped from his horse and walked over to them, his concern apparent. The former boxer remained in the saddle wearing a bored scowl. As the riding instructor chastised the boy about the need to study the terrain over which one was galloping, Rachel studied Jason. His face was still ashen. Memories of that night in Cargrave's library flashed into her mind once more, of Jason hugging the lad with such fondness. He loved Fox as if he were his own flesh and blood.

      
To rescue Fox, Jason would even marry me.
The thought stung. Repressing it, she stood up, brushing grass stains from her rumpled skirt. She looked a positive fright, rumpled and sweating in the noon heat. Before she'd met Jason Beaumont, her appearance never bothered her in the least.

      
Fox, too, jumped up, looking at her with worshipful eyes. “I apologize for causing you distress, Miss Fairchild,” he said gravely. “May I escort you to the house?”

      
Rachel nodded, smiling at the boy and giving him her hand. “I would be honored, Master Fox.”

      
“For someone lying stretched out like the dead moments ago, you've recovered nicely,” Jason said with mild irritation kindled by concern.

      
“I just had the wind knocked out of me, Jace.”

      
“It might be wise for you to spend a day or so close to the house and off of horses, just to be certain there are no lingering effects from your fall,” Rachel cautioned. The boy sighed in resignation, agreeing reluctantly.

      
As they started to walk, her eyes met Jason's for a moment and she sensed his disquietude.
He knows that I saw what he perceives to be weakness.

      
Men were such beetleheads.

      
Her irritation was forgotten when she realized that she had to attend to Fox's “tutors.” She gave them instructions about gathering the horses and taking them to her head stableman, who would escort them to the servants' quarters and see that they were fed and given a place to sleep for the night.

      
By this time Harry and Melvin had made their way from the portico to the edge of the garden. As hostess, Rachel made introductions between her family and her guests. She had been certain that once Fox saw her much prettier sister, he would forget about her. That did not turn out to be the case at all.

      
All through dinner he was unfailingly polite to Harry, but kept his attention fixed on Rachel. So did Jason. The boy's adulation was balm to her confidence—always lacking in social situations—but the man's disturbing blue eyes on her were unnerving in the extreme. Was he pleased or unhappy with her? She wished she had let Harry fix her hair and select a more flattering dress than the simple tan cambric she had insisted was good enough. Until she met Jason Beaumont, Rachel Fairchild had never given a fig about her looks.

      
What was happening to her?

* * * *

      
A rooster crowed loudly at the fuzzy gold ball of the sun inching its way over the treetops beyond the stables. It was going to be another sweltering day, Rachel thought as she made her way to Reddy's stall. She had dressed for the heat, wearing her oldest breeches and shirt, and had pinned her hair up off her neck, covering it with a perfect horror of a straw hat given her by a retired stableman. The frayed brim kept the sun at bay on days such as this one.

      
The big bay greeted her with a friendly snort, eager for a romp before the heat set in. No one was about. Even the stablemen did not begin their labors this early, but it had always been the best time of the day for Rachel. She had several fields to check on and wanted to get the chore done before anyone else was awake in the manor house.

      
Like their father, Harriet was a late sleeper, as was the baron—not that they would present any particular problem. Melvin would bury his nose in the London newspapers and her sister would spend hours on her toilette. Rachel had checked on Fox and found him sleeping peacefully. His breathing was regular and his color good, so the tumble yesterday, while frightening, had apparently done no serious harm. She intended to keep a close watch on the boy for the duration of his visit just to be certain.

      
But what of Jason? Somehow she could not imagine him lazing away a beautiful morning abed. They would have to spend some time together during this visit. After all, the reason for this charade was to convince her father that the two of them were becoming resigned to the match, and even attracted to each other. How could she pretend such a thing?

      
Because it is true,
a voice inside her head whispered.

      
The disquieting image of Jason holding Fox in his arms filled her mind. He was more than a smooth seducer, and nothing like the title-hungry Yankee she had imagined him to be. But he did not want to marry her. That was one fact she surely knew. But did she want to marry him? Her thoughts whirled about in her head until the big bay nuzzled her, hoping for an apple.