Читать книгу An Improper Arrangement - Кейси Майклс, Kasey Michaels - Страница 13

THEA HAD BEEN drawn to the walkway overlooking the aviary after the duchess retired to the duke’s apartments following evening prayers, thinking it a good place to be alone with her thoughts.

It was a pity she couldn’t seem to muster any of other than dubious merit.

What an odd interlude it had been, driving out with Gabriel Sinclair. She didn’t believe she could recall any time in her life she’d been so irritatingly aware of someone.

When his hand had accidently brushed against hers, she’d actually been hard-pressed not to shiver, and definitely not in revulsion. She could think him a hardened seducer, if it weren’t for the fact that he hadn’t seemed to notice her reaction. No, she certainly couldn’t relax when around the man, not for a moment. Succumbing even slightly to the odd charms of the duchess’s grandnephew definitely held no part in her plans.

She’d wanted to. His occasional smile and pleasantly handsome face encouraged her to let down her guard, be herself and simply enjoy his company.

Much as he apparently did not enjoy hers.

He’d been polite, when he remembered, but for the most part seemed to be a man with a great deal on his mind, none of it pleasant to contemplate.

She shouldn’t be surprised he wasn’t doing handsprings of joy at the idea of being her chaperone, the one her suitors—if there were any—would come to asking permission to court her. Which was also odd, since if ever there was a man who wanted to be shed of a woman, that man and woman were he and the seeming albatross now hanging around his neck.

The duchess had been so encouraging, going on endlessly this afternoon about her marvelous grandnephew and his eagerness to be in on their rather slapdash scheme. Indeed, the woman obviously spied no flies in the ointment she’d mixed up in the laboratory of her mind. She’d get some of her own back (and her husband back), Thea’s mother would get some of her own back, and all without anyone really knowing. Except for their combined target, who would know there was a loaded pistol of sorts aimed at his reputation.

Thea considered her position—that of being the loaded pistol. The duchess believed Thea was involved for two reasons: to make her mother happy and to catch herself a rich English husband. Her mother believed she had agreed in order to help the duchess, who was providing her daughter with the opportunity to live out her mother’s dreams for her.

Nobody had actually asked her why she’d uncomplainingly gone along with their plans. Although they probably should have, especially her mother, who certainly couldn’t raise her chin proudly and state, “My daughter is a most biddable and cooperative young lady.”

Because I have plans of my own.

Then she wondered what and who Gabriel Sinclair thought she was. Clearly he didn’t consider her an unexpected ray of sunshine dropped into his humdrum life.

She heard the door open and close, heard the footsteps but didn’t move from her position, her forearms on the thick railing of the intricately carved banister as she leaned forward, pretending to get a better look at the strange wonderfulness below her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such vibrant colors,” she said, at last turning her head as Gabriel Sinclair stopped beside her. “Some of them simply don’t look real, do they? I’ve seen green parrots, of course, but nothing like this. I hope there are books in the library, and I can learn more about them.”

He likewise rested his forearms against the railing, not five feet away from her. As if they were old acquaintances, which they most certainly were not. Yet she did feel comfortable with him much of the time, perhaps because he was good to his aunt. “They’re loud. They smell. What else is there to learn?”

“You don’t like them,” she said.

“I have nothing against them, other than their current location. Do you know what we’re standing on, Miss Neville?”

“I assume a part of the staircase, although I can’t quite work the logistics out in my head.”

“Not a staircase, Miss Neville. We’re standing on a part of the staircase. Not quite one of the seven wonders of the ancient world but equally as lost, at least for now. Imagine if you will those walls on either side of us gone, the doors removed.”

“I wouldn’t want to say it, but those walls do appear, um, hastily constructed.”

“Yes, and that’s being kind. In the duke’s defense—not that he has any—there was some urgency with the construction, for matters of containment, you understand. In any event, imagine if you can those walls gone, the stairs hidden behind those walls once again revealed in all their glory.”

Thea closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again, to see him watching her closely, almost as if taking inventory of her features. She’d already taken an inventory of his: soft dark brown hair with a slight widow’s peak and golden highlights in the sunlight, eyes the color of a summer sky, remarkably straight nose, firm chin. He wasn’t classically handsome. He was…approachably handsome.

Stop this! You’re supposed to be thinking about staircases!

“All right, yes,” she said quickly, “I’m imagining. In truth, I don’t have to imagine it. I’ve seen several similar constructions in Virginia. Americans don’t all reside in log cabins at the edge of some wilderness, you know.”

He cocked one eyebrow at her, his expression amused. “Point taken, and I suppose I’ll attempt to let the baronet down easily when I explain there probably isn’t a large feather headdress still packed up in my aunt’s traveling trunks. What, no smile? You’re not amused? Very well, we’ll go back to imagining.”

“Please do,” Thea said, stepping back from the railing. She was beginning to feel too comfortable sparring with the man, and much too aware of his close proximity.

Gabriel stepped back, as well, and spread his arms, as if to encompass the hidden staircases to his right and left. “Oh, yes, I forgot something, didn’t I? Not just those walls on either side in front of us, but also the ones behind you that, yes, conceal matching staircases. Rather like an enormous hourglass, with its top and bottom gone and a bar making up its middle. Now imagine the staircases, along with this section we’re currently occupying—the bar—floating in place, without any obvious support.”

Her eyes opened wide. “Floating? But…but that’s impossible. Floating?”

“I wish you could see it. The only such construction in England, possibly in the world. Unless it’s taken apart—something the duke considered, mind you—as we’ll never know how it was accomplished. As the legend has it, the architect burned all his notes and plans and then threw himself from this very spot, believing he’d never be able to construct anything else to top his creation. Climbed up on the railing, put his arms above his head and launched himself into the air. Unfortunately, unlike our chattering friends down there, he didn’t sprout wings until after he’d hit the floor.”

Thea looked at the railing, then prudently stepped a few feet from the rail. “He jumped? From this very spot?”

Gabriel threw back his head and laughed, and she immediately felt silly. “It’s a hum, isn’t it? Everything you told me is a huge hum. You’re evil.”

“You’re much kinder than the baronet,” he told her, taking her arm and leading her toward the end of the freestanding balcony. “He didn’t figure it out until I told him about how the architect haunts the place, flying through the halls and warning, ‘I’ll never tell—I’ll never tell!’”

Thea attempted, and failed, to contain her smile. “I shouldn’t find that amusing.”

“Ah, but you do. It’s part of my duties as your chaperone to amuse you. Shall I show you the gardens now?”

“As long as there aren’t banshees in the yew hedge, I suppose so.” She kept her arm through his as they made their way down the long curving and enclosed staircase—one of the two that led toward the rear of the estate house—and out through the French doors. “At least these match the front doorway. The duke wasn’t slapdash in every alteration.”

He offered his arm once more as they negotiated the stone steps leading down into the gardens.

“And you think we all should be grateful for small mercies, I suppose.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, no. What do you plan to do with the aviary once you’re duke? Break the duchess’s heart by tearing it all down? Shunting all of those lovely birds into tiny cages and leaving them to…molt?”

He led her to a bench and they sat down, just out of sight of the rear of the mansion.

“Ah, you recognize my dilemma. My only hope lies in the duke living at least another twenty years while I continue to occupy my smaller but rather pleasant estate not five miles from here.”

Thea felt for the man; she really did.

“Shame, then, that he’s locked himself away upstairs, dying.”

“We always add again. He’s dying again.”

“Pardon my lapse. The question, however, remains. As the duchess and I will be removing to London shortly, to allow me to practice my feminine wiles before my official come-out in the spring, I don’t see a good ending for any of us, do you? Not with the duchess in mourning and you taking up residence here. I’ve heard the expression going to the dogs, but you’ll be going to the birds.”

“Is everyone in America quite so blunt?”

“I can’t speak for America, sir. But I do believe in speaking for myself. The duchess wants you to be my chaperone in London, and you’ve agreed, even as you’d rather poke a stick in your eye. Do you perceive me to be that much of a challenge? The duchess has already informed me my wardrobe is sadly out of date.”

Gabriel looked at her chest. He really looked at it, making Thea more than a little self-conscious. “What is that thing, anyway?”

She raised her hands to the fine white lawn fabric edged in a modest row of lace. “This? Surely you’ve seen a fichu before. It’s a large square of fabric, folded into a triangle and then draped round the shoulders and pinned at the center thusly, fashioned especially to—”

“To send gentlemen running for the card room. Take it off.”

Thea pressed her hands more tightly against her chest, knowing exactly what lay beneath it. “I most certainly will not. A fichu is worn for modesty.”

“My apologies, then. I thought the duchess brought you here to marry you off.”

“You don’t have to be quite that blunt, but yes.”

“Blunt for blunt, Miss Neville. Then this has to go.”

With one probably well-practiced move, Gabriel unclasped her small pearl brooch, and the ends of the fichu fell open.

“Aha. Just as I thought earlier. I don’t know the size of your dowry, Miss Neville, but when it comes to sellable assets, I believe you’ve been hiding yours under a bushel.”

She slapped him before she could think, and then quickly pulled the fichu tight across her half-exposed bosom.

“I deserved that,” he said, rubbing at his cheek—she hadn’t measured the force of the slap; she’d simply slapped. Her palm and fingers stung from the impact. “But before you go screeching for the duchess, Miss Neville, there’s exactly nothing wrong with the cut of that gown. I doubt anyone would even notice or remark on it in London. Well, no, that’s not true. I’m fairly certain I’d remark on it. Favorably.”

“That should earn you another slap, you know,” she told him as he handed back the brooch and she quickly stabbed it into place. “Are all Englishmen like you?”

“All men are like me, Miss Neville. Hasn’t your mama told you that? There may be whole months go by when we think of nothing else.”

“You’re not joking this time, are you?”

“Not if I’m going to be your chaperone, no. We clean up fairly well, have learned our manners, walk upright, but men are mostly animals. When you agree to go into the garden with one of them, you can’t ever be certain the gentleman will be able to keep his…baser instincts in line.”

“I’ll certainly never go into a garden again with you. Do you have any more lessons for me?”

“Just one more, at least for tonight. I’m a firm believer in a woman being prepared to do more than slap a man on the forearm with her folded fan and say, ‘La, sir, you presume too much.’”

Thea laughed in spite of herself. Really, should she be enjoying any of this?

He took her hand in his, turning her fingers inward to form a fist. “No, take your thumb out from beneath your fingers. Otherwise, when you complete your punch, it might be to learn said thumb is broken. That’s it, thumb pressed hard on the side of your index finger.”

He had his own hand cupped around hers, fingers to fingers, and gave her fist a squeeze.

“Now, there’s very little force connected to a punch that doesn’t include some sort of preparation. You don’t simply make a fist and aim it at someone’s jaw—or any other vulnerable area you might consider.”

“This is ridiculous,” she said, trying to pull her hand away.

“This, in my experienced opinion, is a lesson more young women should be taught.” He moved her hand until her elbow bent and her fist was beside her, not in front of her. “Do you feel that? The tension in your arm and shoulder? Good. Now we bring it forward, like this, turning your fist and elbow so that the back of your hand faces the sky—yes, that’s good. You’ll land a flush hit that way, without breaking your knuckles—and aim for the lower side of the man’s cheek, near his ear. Like this, and put some snap into it.”

So saying, he guided her fist forward until, his hand now gripping her wrist, he pressed her fist against his cheek.

Her gaze went to her hand, in such intimate contact with his face, and then moved up to his humor-filled eyes and held there. She took a breath, swallowed nervously and watched as his pupils seemed to narrow, at last realizing that they sat no more than two feet apart, in the darkening evening, in a garden, far from any other human being, or bird for that matter.

“You’ve the most amazing eyebrows, Miss Neville,” he said. “They were nearly the first thing I noticed about you. I suppose they might overpower other eyes than yours, but they only add to the mystery of those long dark lashes and deeply brown irises. Is that a hint of gold near their very centers? Fascinating.”

Thea seriously considered a missish swoon. The touch of his hand, his warm sweet breath on her cheek. She’d acknowledged him as extraordinarily handsome when she first saw him, but she’d not imagined herself in such close proximity to him. Worse, she had this insane urge to open her hand, daringly cup his face in her palm.

Which was ridiculous, because she barely even knew him, and much that she did know wasn’t precisely the sort of thing to make a maiden’s heart go pitter-patter. And now he was spouting empty flattery, which should be insulting, except that she realized she very much would like to believe every word he said.

“All right, let’s do it again.”

“Pardon me?” Thea ordered her mind to stop wandering, since it was treading in dangerous areas. With this man, it would never pay to not be on her toes at all times.

“I said, let’s do it again. This time, do it on your own, and put some vigor into it. You don’t want the punch to simply bounce off my cheek. That’s worse than a hearty slap.”

Thea fisted her hands in her lap. “I’m not going to punch you. It’s not the sort of thing women do, and not only is it silly, but it’s ungentlemanly of you to even suggest such a thing.”

“No, Miss Neville, this is ungentlemanly.”

And then he kissed her. On the mouth. He actually kissed her.

Then sat back and grinned at her.

Thumb outside the fingers, coil back with your arm, turn the back of your hand toward the sky as you bring your arm forward and snap!

“Ow! Damn, woman, that was my ear!”

He rubbed at his ear as she bit her bottom lip, looking down at her still clenched fist and wondering how it had gone somewhere of its own volition and now once again lay back in her lap. Throbbing, but back in her lap.

“I’ll probably hear bells for the next fortnight.”

“I’m sorry,” Thea said, instantly contrite. She hadn’t really meant to hurt him. “But you did badger me into it.”

“Badger? Madam, I kissed you.”

“You did. But you did it on purpose.”

Gabriel laughed as Thea winced at her own words. “I rarely kiss without purpose. I wouldn’t say you’re ready to go thirty rounds in the ring at Gentleman Jackson’s Pugilistic Club, but you’ll do, you’ll do.”

“How gratifying. And how many animals do you believe I’ll be punching in my time in London?”

He took both her hands in his and helped her to her feet, then put a hand against her back as he guided her along the route they’d taken to the bench. “I hope to God none, but the Little Season is awash in raw country youths sent there to attain some town polish. I don’t put much trust in such young untrained cubs, having been one not all that long ago. In any event, no more evening strolls in gardens, not without your maid, do you understand? This isn’t Virginia.”

“That’s true enough. Virginia is much more civilized. I’ve moved in Society before, sir, and have never had occasion to even consider having to physically defend myself against…against…”

“An overabundance of ardor?”

If only he’d shut up. If only the ground could open up and swallow her. She hastened her steps along the pathway, wishing they hadn’t strayed so far. Anything would be preferable to spending another moment in this infuriating man’s presence. “Yes. That.”

“Then I shall never visit Virginia, for the men must all be shortsighted fools.”

“My, is this how the English compliment a lady? If there are no more lessons for this evening, I shall bid you good-night, sir, with the hope you’ll find something or someone else tomorrow to occupy your time,” Thea said as they reached the doors to the house.

“Gabriel.”

He’d already held the door open for her, but she paused on the threshold, to look back at him. “Excuse me?”

“I said, Gabriel. Or, as I most prefer, Gabe. After all, we’ve gotten to know each other so much better this evening.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. We are neither relatives nor friends. And, after getting to know you so much better this evening, as you say, I highly doubt we will ever be either.”

Gabriel put his palm to his cheek and winced. “Ouch! Congratulations, Miss Neville. I believe that was your most telling blow of the evening.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are impossible, you know. And thoroughly unlikable.” Considering hers a stellar final shot, getting at least a little of her own back, Thea wheeled about on her heels and was first to enter the madhouse.

“Shut the doors, Mr. Sinclair! Shut the doors! Caspar got himself loose again and is headin’ your way!” The footman shouted the warning as he ran toward them, what looked to be a huge, sturdily built butterfly net in his hands, his warning nearly overcome by the squawking and screeching seemingly emanating from every cage in the aviary—as if the other birds were cheering somebody on.

“Oh, good God in his heaven, not again.”

The door shut firmly behind her just as an incredibly large white bird swooped down from the catwalk, clearly on a bid for freedom. Thea ducked down, her eyes squeezed shut, her hands protectively pressed to her head as the thing flew past her, his escape surely about to end in tragedy now that the door was closed. The bird couldn’t possibly pull up in time, and although she didn’t know all that much about parrots, she was definitely sure that, unlike carriages and such, they didn’t come equipped with a brake.

She waited for the crash, or the sickening thud, only to hear Gabriel say, “Behave yourself, Caspar, if you please. This is a fairly new jacket.”

Thea turned around to see the man standing at his ease, his right arm raised shoulder level…and the parrot sitting on that arm, bobbing its head as if promising to behave.

“How…how did you do that?”

Gabriel grinned, raising his other arm so that the parrot could walk up and across his shoulders, stopping only to rub its head against Gabriel’s cheek.

“Damned bird, damned bird. Awk! Make a stew, make a stew!”

Thea clapped a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “It speaks?”

“He repeats, mimics. Caspar and I are old chums. Aren’t we, Caspar? He was one of my gifts from the duke and duchess, a type of parrot called a cockatoo, but now he resides here. Caspar, give Gabe a kiss.”

The parrot complied, touching its curved blue beak full on Gabriel’s pursed lips, and then performed the most astonishing act—raising a crest of dark yellow feathers behind its head.

“Parlor tricks? And I suppose you taught it that?”

“What can I say in my defense? I was the only child of the house, alone in the nursery, and needed someone—something—to talk to, tell my secrets. Damn. Caspar, don’t.”

It was, of course, impossible, but Thea would have sworn the parrot—cockatoo—had just mimicked the sound of human crying. A child crying.

“Did Caspar just—Was that—?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Surely I’m not mistaken.”

“Come along, you pernicious bird. Time to put you back in your cage. Are you coming, Miss Neville?”

Thea followed along, considering her only other choice was to remain where she was, and she was entirely too curious to do that. “Caspar—secrets.”

Once again the bird opened its beak and the sad sound of a child crying came out. The overwhelming sadness struck at her heart. “I’m so sorry. I won’t do that again,” she whispered, but Gabriel gave her no hint that he’d heard either Caspar or her.

A proud man, a proud man whose dearest friend as a child apparently was a cockatoo, something he probably didn’t want anyone to know.

Gabriel stopped in front of one of the larger cages, this one made of brass, the shape and the size of a small gazebo. At quick count, there were five other birds, probably all different types of parrots, waiting inside for Caspar’s return.

Caspar wasn’t to be alone, the only bird in his own lonely aviary.

“I’ll get the door for you, sir,” the footman said, stepping forward. “I’m that sorry, sir. He was being good as gold, paying me no never mind, and then he was gone, nipping out right over my head.”

Mouth and beak bumped again, and then Caspar spread his wings and half leaped, half flew to the topmost perch. “It’s all right, Wiggins. He’s had a lot of years to practice his escapes. Miss Neville? If I might escort you to the stairs? Wiggins here will soon be drawing the drapes, leaving the aviary in darkness. And before you ask, we use the doors through the music room to enter and leave after dark, which really doesn’t matter, as there hasn’t been an evening visitor or party here since the duke first commenced dying.”

“That’s sad.”

“I agree. Until that time, this was quite the lively place. Have you ever seen grown men sliding down a banister? They had races, every Christmas, I’m told. But then, although they never lacked for banisters, they did eventually run out of racers. The fourth duke only looks somber in his portrait because a smile would have shown his sadly broken front teeth. Some say that’s why he never married, although it’s more generally believed it was because he was a drunken sot who couldn’t be interested in anything or anyone that didn’t involve cards, horses or wine cellars. His whistle was exceedingly impressive, however.”

Thea laughed, allowing herself to be amused, and then politely turned away from the subject of Caspar the cockatoo. “Did you ever slide down the banisters?”

“Only once, I’m afraid, earning myself a sound caning that would have prevented another go at it, at any rate, as well as causing me to eat my mutton standing up for at least a week.”

They reached the head of the staircase that climbed up to the west wing and the long, wide hallway leading to another staircase and the guest chambers. She wasn’t at all sleepy but knew it was time to say good-night, to end this strange, awkward, yet oddly entertaining and enlightening evening.

Perhaps they were friends now. Or at least something less than enemies. She dropped him a small curtsy. “Good night…Gabe.”

His smile wasn’t triumphant—which was lucky for him—but actually friendly. “Good night to you, Thea. Tomorrow morning we’ll fish, as promised, and in the afternoon we’ll see how well you dance.”

“Really? I rather thought dancing was the purpose of tonight’s lesson.”

And with that, while she was still at least slightly in charity with the infuriating man, she left him standing where he was and took off for her bedchamber, her chin held high, even if it did wobble a time or two as she finally got in the last word with him.