Читать книгу Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman - Julia Justiss - Страница 10

Relieved to have company to break the tense silence that had fallen between her and her cousin Althea, Amanda was about to greet her father when she realised the deep masculine voice was not Papa’s. As she looked up sharply, the vision that met her startled eyes made her catch her breath and sent her senses leaping like a colt loosed in a spring meadow.

A man stood in the doorway, smiling faintly. Despite his casual stance, the tall, lean body radiated an aura of such intense masculinity that everything female within her came instantly to the alert. A little thrill of anticipation zinged through her as she focused her gaze on the rugged, vaguely familiar face: handsome, if a bit lean and tanned, with vivid green eyes that seemed to gaze into one’s soul and a beguiling smile playing about the lips.

That enticing smile coaxed forth an answering one before the truth of his identity struck her with force of a giant boulder, smashing her response at birth. The man wearing gentleman’s garb and standing at ease on the threshold could only be their long-absent guest, Mr Anders.

Before she could order her disjointed thoughts to summon a suitable greeting, Althea bobbed up like a fishing cork after a pull on the line. ‘Mr Anders, is it not!’ she cried. ‘How excellent to meet you at last! I’m so sorry I missed your arrival. You were ill, I’d heard, but are obviously better. Please, won’t you help yourself at the sideboard and come sit by me? I cannot wait to converse with you.’

‘How kind of you to solicit my company, Miss …?’ He paused, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

‘Holton—Althea Holton. No one of importance, as Amanda would tell you,’ Althea said with a toss of her head in Amanda’s direction. ‘Lord Bronning is my uncle.’

‘His lordship is doubly fortunate, then, to have both a handsome daughter and a lovely niece.’

‘Prettily spoken, Mr Anders,’ Amanda responded, finally collecting her wits. ‘I, too, am glad to see you have recovered enough to join us.’

‘Are you indeed, Miss Neville?’ he replied, his dry tone and raised eyebrow telling her he doubted those polite words. ‘I am heartily glad to be able to join you. I hope I shall be less trouble for the remainder of my sojourn here than I’ve been the last two days—however long that sojourn may be.’

‘I do hope it will be extended!’ Althea interjected. ‘You are to report to the Coastal Brigade office, Uncle James said? What shall you do with them?’

‘On that head, Miss Holton, I have no more information than you. I shall not discover the extent of my duties until I report in, which I intend to do as soon as I can manage the journey.’

‘If you feel equal to the trip today, I can summon you a coach,’ Amanda offered.

He showed her that quirk of eyebrow again, as if he thought her remark implied an eagerness to be rid of him. Though she hadn’t intended to convey that impression—at least consciously—she supposed it was true.

A sudden shame heated her cheeks. She’d thought Anders too ill or cast-away to notice much upon his arrival—but had her less-than-enthusiastic reaction to his visit been so apparent? It must have, for he was treating her with an ironic courtesy that said he didn’t believe a single one of her politenesses.

Chagrin deepened the burn. Though plain, Mr Anders’s garments were undeniably those of a gentleman, and he wore them with the ease of long practice. His birth and connections were probably exactly as claimed, despite the low nature of his recent activities. Though she was still beset by problems and grieving, that didn’t excuse her being uncivil or unwelcoming to one of Papa’s guests—no matter how ill conceived she think the invitation.

‘A kind offer, Miss Neville, but I don’t believe I shall avail myself of it today,’ he replied while incoherent words of apology churned around in her head. ‘My emergence from the sickroom is so recent, I think it would be wiser to remain at Ashton Grove and try my luck exploring the house and grounds. From the few glimpses I had driving to the manor, both are magnificent.’

‘Oh, they are indeed,’ Althea chimed in. ‘Would you like to tour the estate? I’d be happy to drive you—if you are up to it. I was told you’d been wounded, but have no idea of the severity. What happened? Oh, I mean if it is not too rude to enquire. It’s just, I’m so fascinated by everything about the Navy!’

‘Why don’t we let Mr Anders eat before we press him to recount his history?’ Amanda suggested, embarrassed by Althea’s overly inquisitive behaviour.

Sparing Amanda only a quick dagger glance, Althea refocused her attention on Anders. ‘Do try the ham and cheese, it’s quite good,’ she coaxed. ‘Shall I assist you? Allow me to carry your plate.’

Goodness, Althea was acting as if their guest were an invalid or a child still in the nursery. Amanda’s experience with gentleman was limited mostly to her brother, but she knew George would hate to be coddled in such a manner. ‘Mr Anders probably prefers to fix his own plate, Althea,’ she said in as light a tone as possible.

It didn’t answer; the girl flashed her a resentful look. ‘I know he’s capable. I just want to help, if he wishes it.’

‘That’s most kind of you, Miss Holton, but I think I can manage,’ Anders replied, tactfully forestalling any further exchange. ‘I admit to being eager to try more of your cook’s skill. If the exceptional breakfast sent up this morning is any indication, you keep a fine table, Miss Neville. That is, I understand you run the household yourself? And do so with admirable skill for a lady so young.’

‘Yes, Amanda’s a paragon of organisation, as anyone at Ashton Grove will tell you. An exemplary manager and a beauty! No doubt she’ll have suitors lined up in the street when she makes her come-out in London this spring.’ Though the words themselves were matter of fact, Althea’s tone implied her disdain at such a goal.

Mr Anders either did not sense that, or chose to ignore it, merely replying, ‘So you will go to London, then?’

‘Yes, I hope to,’ Amanda replied. At least one of the ladies present could be politely brief, she thought with annoyance.

‘Indeed, Amanda can’t wait to escape the country!’ Althea exclaimed. ‘Whereas I think Ashton Grove is wonderful, and so rich in history. The original part of the house dates from the late fourteenth century. I’d be delighted to show you around—when you are sufficiently rested, Mr Anders,’ she added, directing another pointed look at Amanda.

‘After I sample some of that ham and cheese, I may take you up on that kind offer, Miss Holton,’ Anders said.

Althea insisted on walking to the sideboard with him, pointing out other dishes and offering to hold his plate or fetch him coffee. Amanda had to admit, Anders bore those ministrations with patience, tinged, if the wink he sent her over the girl’s head was any indication, with good humour.

Returning to the table, he seated himself beside Althea as requested. Eating slowly, occasionally closing his eyes as if truly savouring the food, he continued to focus a flattering amount of attention on the girl.

Amanda couldn’t fault his manners, and his conversation was skilful, too. With a few well-chosen phrases, he led Althea to describe Ashton Grove, the pleasant walks and rides to be had in the area, the fishing and hunting available, the route one took to reach the Devon coast, the beautiful red cliffs at Salcombe by the Coastal Brigade station at Salters Bay.

Probably he was Stanhope’s cousin after all. She’d love to enquire about that relationship—when she could do so with more polite discretion than Althea was displaying.

Not required to add a syllable to the discussion, Amanda settled back to simply observing Anders. Which, she had to admit, was certainly no hardship.

The improvement in his looks from the bearded, grimy man she’d met in the entry two days ago was little short of amazing. Though the limp was gone, he walked a bit stiffly, testament to the fact that he was still not fully recovered. In spite of that impediment, there was a sinuous, almost feline quality to his movements.

Something about his rangy grace recalled to her mind the jungle cats she’d seen as a girl in the Royal Menagerie—sleek and feral. Despite the subtle signs of injury, Mr Anders still radiated a sense of self-confidence and power.

This was not a man to tangle with, that prowling stance said, but one who would protect what was his and hold his own in a fight. Free to roam about as the menagerie beasts were not, she suspected Mr Anders might prove even more dangerous.

From the deliberate way he was holding the fork in his left hand and the rigid angle of his arm, she surmised that his wound must be on that side. Speculating about the size and location of the injury hidden beneath the coat led her to imagining how his chest might look, stripped of clothing.

That image sparked such a strong, unsettling flash of sensation in her belly that she immediately shut down the thought. Taking a steadying breath, she turned her gaze instead to a covert study of his profile.

He possessed a straight, classical nose and the lips of a Greek sculpture. A determined chin, against which he was tapping one tanned finger, bronzed, no doubt, from performing all manner of tasks in heat and sun, as the calloused palm would also attest. At his brow and temples, a luxuriant curl of auburn hair, now cut and fashionably styled, inspired in her the oddest desire to run her fingers through it.

At the thought of him running one of his tanned hands through her unbound hair, she felt a little shiver. Despite the ravages worked upon him by his service at sea and his wounds, Mr Anders was still a strikingly well-made gentleman.

Unfortunately.

Though she had scarcely more acquaintance with personable gentlemen than her cousin, she was older and, she hoped, less impressionable than Althea, yet when Mr Anders had appeared on the threshold a few moments ago, he’d nearly stolen her breath. If Amanda didn’t mistake the look on her cousin’s face, now gazing up at their guest raptly, Althea had developed an instantaneous tendre for the man she’d already been predisposed to admire for his military connections.

How was Amanda going to prevent her impetuous cousin from hanging on Mr Anders’s sleeve, chattering in his ear and trying to accompany him on every walk, stroll or ride he took on Ashton Grove land and elsewhere?

‘Have I dripped egg on my coat, Miss Neville?’

Startled out of her reverie, Amanda realised Mr Anders’s deep-green eyes were now focused on her, his amused expression announcing he’d caught her staring at him. Quickly she averted her gaze, while, to her added discomfort, she felt a blush mounting her cheeks.

‘I don’t think so,’ Althea replied before she could respond. ‘If you had, she would have told you so directly. Amanda is a stickler for propriety and proper behaviour.’

‘Proper’ meaning dull, Althea’s tone said. Amanda suppressed a sigh and hoped her expression didn’t betray her irritation. Althea’s obvious attempt to disparage her in front of the object of her fascination might be humorous if it were not so annoying—and disquieting proof of just how mesmerised the girl already was.

‘For a young lady about to make her début, being a stickler for propriety is an unfortunate necessity, or so I’ve been told,’ came Mr Anders’s surprising reply. ‘It’s quite unfair that gentleman are allowed great freedom of behaviour, while ladies, especially unmarried ones, are so restricted.’

Amanda risked a quick, covert glance at his face, which seemed serious rather than mocking. It was only polite of him to have so deftly deflected Althea’s criticism, but could it be possible he really understood the truth of his remark?

Or was he just vastly experienced at leading young ladies astray? As of yet, she knew absolutely nothing about his character. Compellingly attractive as he was injured, she imagined his charm would be quite devastating when he was fully recovered. A rogue-in-sheep’s clothing, who cloaked illicit designs in properly conventional speeches, would be as dangerous to Althea’s heart and reputation as those jungle cats loosed among Ashton Grove cattle.

The idea of having to tangle wits with the gentleman to protect her cousin sent a sharp, and deeply disturbing, tingle of anticipation rippling through Amanda.

She struggled to suppress it, reminding herself that, alluring as he might be, even if Anders were the gentleman he seemed, his present circumstances rendered him entirely ineligible as a suitable companion for either her or Althea.

Meanwhile, her cousin eagerly latched on to his comment. ‘Quite right!’ she cried. ‘When I was younger, I used to ride astride, in trousers, which is so much more practical and comfortable than going side-saddle in a tangle of skirts. But after … everything that happened last summer, Uncle James has forbidden me to follow the hunt. Indeed, he insists I maintain the most dull, dawdling pace when I do ride, though now more than ever I need a hard gallop. And you cannot even imagine the dreariness of the lady’s academy they forced me to attend. Lecture after lecture about how a young lady must do this and mustn’t do that, all those silly girls chattering of beaux and gowns and needlework until I thought I must scream. How glad I was to leave.

‘And I’m not going back,’ she announced with a mutinous glare at Amanda, whose shock at that pronouncement doubtless showed clearly on her face. ‘I shall stay here at Ashton Grove and take care of Uncle James while Amanda goes to London.’

Though this was both a most unwelcome announcement and the first she’d heard of the decision, now in front of Mr Anders was hardly the place to debate the matter.

Unable to determine upon a reply that would not further inflame her cousin, Amanda was relieved when their guest smoothly continued, ‘What would you study and do, Miss Holton, if you were permitted to choose?’

As good manners, it was an impeccable move. Even more surprising, Mr Anders appeared to genuinely be interested in the opinions of this shabbily behaved schoolgirl.

‘I’d ride astride again. Learn to fence and shoot and hunt. Fish in my old clothes like I used to with Amanda, before she put off such “childish” things. Study politics and philosophy and … and Greek instead of china painting and deportment. Play billiards—and drink port and smoke cigars!’ Althea finished defiantly.

If she’d tried to shock him, she’d failed. Their guest merely shook his head and laughed. ‘I fear your relations would give you trouble, indeed, were you to embark on such an agenda. Though I should hardly wish for such a lovely girl to be miraculously transformed into a young man, it is a shame, for if you were on your way to university, you might indulge all those desires.’

‘How I wish I might attend university,’ Althea said wistfully—and Amanda suppressed a sigh of her own at virtually the only remark her cousin had made with which she agreed. How much more useful might a wife be to a husband with great responsibilities in government were she tutored as he had been in the intricacies of diplomacy and politics.

‘How does one go about making a career of the sea?’ Althea asked. ‘When we walk along the beach, watching the ships, I always wonder what it would be like to be out there, sailing on one of the vessels skimming by the coast.’

‘I am not making a career of the Navy, Miss Holton, although my short time in the service gave me a great admiration for those who do. Individuals who desire to rise to command must begin at a much earlier age. My captain, himself son of a commodore, went aboard his first ship as a “young gentleman” at the age of eleven.’

‘Does it take so long, then?’ Amanda asked, her interest piqued in spite of herself.

‘It does—and the training is rigorous. A “young gentleman” must serve three years before he can become a midshipman, then at least another six as midshipman before he can take the exam for lieutenant. There are never enough commands to go around, and with the war finally over, even fewer will be available, although much important work remains for the Navy. The French no longer hamper British commerce, but despite the recent agreement signed with the Bey of Algiers to prevent dealing in, ah … the abduction of European citizens, piracy remains a serious threat.’

His momentary pause, and the slight tinge of colour in his face when he pronounced the last phrase, sparked Amanda to wonder if he were referring to the agreement to end the white slavery trade about which she’d read in the London papers last year. If so, no wonder he’d been embarrassed, almost mentioning such a shocking subject to young ladies of sensibility. The titillating notion of slave girls and seraglios sent a thrill of the forbidden through her.

Fortunately, the mention of pirates had apparently distracted Althea from noticing his hesitation. ‘Was your ship engaged against the pirates?’ she asked eagerly. ‘Is that how you were injured?’

Suddenly, Anders’s genial smile faded and his eyes took on a hard look. ‘Yes, but it’s probably best I not relate too much of that bloody encounter.’

‘Oh, but I should love to hear about it!’ Althea cried. ‘Every cannon volley and thrust. It must have been so thrilling.’

While Anders’s expression grew even more forbidding, her cousin opened her lips, looking as if she were about to entreat him again. ‘Althea!’ Amanda warned in a sharp undertone.

Finally sensing Mr Anders’s reluctance, her cousin flushed. ‘Excuse me,’ she mumbled. ‘Of course, I don’t wish to tease you to talk about something you prefer not to discuss.’

‘Should you like more coffee, Mr Anders?’ Amanda intervened to cover the awkward moment.

Mr Anders’s stern expression softened. ‘No, I’ve had sufficient, Miss Neville. Perhaps a knife to pick my teeth?’

The room went suddenly silent. Shock and dismay must have blanched her face, but before she could form some reply, Anders chuckled.

‘Belay that last,’ he said with a grin. ‘I believe I shall try a walk now. From what I observed from the French doors overlooking the terrace, a stroll through the gardens should be quite pleasant.’

Why, the … the wretch! Amanda fumed, feeling her face flame again. Not only had Anders obviously sensed her initial disdain for the man who’d stumbled across her threshold looking like the lowest of common sailors, he now had the audacity to tease her about it! Though as shabbily as she’d treated him as his hostess, she probably ought to tender him an apology … at some moment when her cousin wasn’t looking on.

‘Shall I show you?’ Althea offered quickly. ‘My Aunt Lydia’s knot gardens are most ingenious—like a maze in miniature made of clipped herbs. Just give me long enough to fetch my pelisse.’

‘That would be most pleasant, Miss Holton,’ Anders said.

Damn and blast, Amanda thought, Althea’s offer pulling her from her agitation to a more serious concern. It appeared her cousin did intend to dog the steps of their guest.

Except for that one remark about teeth-picking, Mr Anders had conducted himself like a gentleman. Polished behaviour, however, would be easy to affect by one who had grown up among the ton, as his lineage, if not his most recent associations, suggested. If he were a rogue, she was in for a difficult time, for judging by the adoring gaze Althea now had fixed upon the man, she would be deaf to any caution Amanda might utter about spending time alone in his company.

An even more dire possibility occurred to her. Despite her avowed interest in ‘manly’ pursuits, Althea was a girl hovering on the brink between child and young woman. If her adulation should turn in a flirtatious direction, the girl might throw herself at Anders’s head. Possessed of a sizeable dowry herself, Althea would be a plump prize for a man who apparently possessed neither wealth nor property of his own.

One further glance at Althea’s expression told Amanda that any attempt to prevent her from escorting Mr Anders about was doomed to failure. The girl would simply disobey a direct order to refrain from his company; if Amanda tried to assign her some task that would prevent their meeting, Althea would likely find a way around it.

Desperately Amanda wished that Papa were present, removing from her shoulders the burden of protecting her cousin. But though she didn’t wish to further offend their guest, she knew it simply was not safe for Althea to go waltzing about the estate with Mr Anders unchaperoned. And since her wily cousin was quite capable of fobbing off any maid or groom she tried to saddle with the task, the only person likely to successfully prevent that—was herself.

Reluctantly she forced the words through stiff lips. ‘I believe I’d like to take the air as well. May I join you in your walk, Mr Anders?’

Though he might immediately guess her purpose, in his guise as a gentleman, Mr Anders could hardly refuse to accept her company if he’d already agreed to Althea’s. Though the girl sent her a furious look for inserting herself where she was not wanted, Mr Anders replied with the only answer courtesy permitted.

‘Of course, Miss Neville. If having the escort of one lovely lady is a delight, having two would be doubly so. Shall I meet you both at the entry in, say, ten minutes?’

After her polite and Althea’s enthusiastic murmur of assent, the three rose from the table.

Amanda lingered in the breakfast room as the other two departed, fuming. With quarterly supplies to order, the household account books to review with Mrs Pepys, several ill tenants to visit and half-a-dozen other urgent tasks awaiting, the last thing she needed was to have to play unwilling chaperon to her equally unwilling cousin.

Amanda resisted a strong urge to hurl her unoffending coffee cup into the fireplace, merely to hear the satisfying crash.

There was no hope for it, though. Until she could transfer the responsibility for Althea’s protection to Papa or work out a better way to separate the girl from the object of her fascination, Amanda would have to intervene.

The regrettable fact that a little stir of anticipation coursed through her at the idea of spending more time in Mr Anders’s company only made her angrier.