Barbara Metzger The Luck Of The Devil

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John shouting to their own frightened, plunging mounts.
Rowanne would have struggled to her feet but for Carey's weight.
"Stay," he ordered. "There may be others." He was listening carefully and
peering around the bench.
"Someone tried to kill you!" she whispered hoarsely, shock giving way to
reason.
"No, I think not. We were sitting pigeons; he could have done the job
easily. I think this was just meant as a reminder of my mortality. I thought
I had taken care of that business last night, unless& " He did not finish, all
too aware of his position and Miss Wimberly's. He looked down at
Rowanne, just inches away, and grinned.
She was outraged. "You're enjoying this! Someone tries to murder you
in broad daylight and you can laugh! I shall never understand you, Carey
Delverson."
He was still smiling, an impish gleam in his eyes. "I don't like being
used for target practice any more than the next fellow, sweetheart. I'm
laughing because I've still got the devil's own luck. I live through the
Peninsula only to get shot at in Hyde Park. Then I end up not only alive
and unwounded, but right where I have wanted to be for two lifetimes.
Maybe three."
In the park? In the dirt? On top of Rowanne gasped, which Carey felt
through the layers of clothing between them. Before she could protest he
bent his head and pressed his lips to hers in a moment so sweet, so tender,
yet so stirring that the earth moved. No, that was the pounding of the
horses' hooves as John ran them over to the bench.
"Miss Wimberly?" he called. "Your Grace? Be ye all right? Should I get
the Watch?"
Carey helped her up, helped brush off her habit. "No, John, I doubt
there is anything the Watch could do. The marksman is long gone. Did
you see anyone?"
"No, milord, that sorry I am, but the horses was carrying on so, I
couldn't do more'n see what direction he took."
"That's all right, John," Rowanne told the small man, who was looking
as if he blamed himself for the whole thing. "There was no harm done and
the horses did not run away."
St. Dillon glanced back at the trees. "Perhaps it was just some squire up
from the country, coming home at dawn and mistaking our ducks for
partridges."
Rowanne snorted and John scratched his head. "I don't know about
that, Your Grace. I think the authorities had ought to be informed. A body
should be safe here in the park."
"I doubt there will be any more such incidents, John, so I see no reason
to cause a ruckus, do you?"
The look Carey gave the little groom had quailed whole regiments. John
shook his head. "No, Your Grace."
"Good. I think we will give out that I had trouble with my horse, the
blasted leg, don't you know. Not to fault your riding, my dear Miss
Wimberly, but in your effort to come to my aid you dismounted a trifle
precipitously. That should explain your, ah, dusty look and take care of
any conjecture."
Rowanne had to agree. "Heavens, if Emonda heard about the gunshot
she'd have the vapors for a week." And if Gabe heard about the kiss, he'd
be issuing a challenge.
Carey looked from the groom to the lady, recombed now and
remounted. "John, I am trusting you to keep a watch on your mistress.
Rowanne, would you make sure Suzannah does not go off by herself? I do
not think there could be a threat to either of you, but just be extra
careful."
"And what about you?" Rowanne demanded. "If you won't go to the
authorities, what will you do?"
He smiled, showing those roguish dimples. "Are you worried, Miss
Wimberly? Don't be. I'll just have a talk with whomever is behind this, and
then you and I can continue our own conversation." He winked. "Right
where we left off."
Rowanne had to be content with that because St. Dillon would not
reveal his suspicions. On the ride home John stayed so close she had no
chance to quiz Carey about his intentions, or which conversation he meant
to take up again. At the door, when John led Rowanne's horse away and a
boy came to hold St. Dillon's, he only told her, "We'll talk more when this
hobble is done. I am just an old-fashioned warrior who cannot wage two
campaigns at once." He took her arm, removed her dirt-soiled glove, and
kissed the palm of her hand. Smiling broadly, he declared, "And I intend
to win both."
Before going upstairs to change, Rowanne went through the house to
the kitchen door and out to the mews, where John was rubbing down the
horses. The ex-jockey scratched his head when he heard what she wanted,
then nodded and called one of the stable boys to finish with the mare.
John nodded again when she left. So that's the way of it, he chuckled to
himself, hurrying to the kitchen to up his wager with that stick Pitkin,
who never could pick a winner.
On her way back Rowanne passed Emonda in the hall. There was
Rowanne in all her dirt, her hair straggling down her back, the feather on
her hat sadly broken, and Emonda cordially inquired, "Did you have a
pleasant ride? That's nice," before drifting off down the hall in a blissful
haze. Rowanne's suspicions were confirmed when Pitkin disclosed that
Lord Clyme had left for Whitehall much later than usual, after partaking
of a second breakfast with Lady Clyme.
Nodcocks and ninnyhammers, both of them, Rowanne decided as she
finally reclined in her bath. Gabe and Emonda were obviously besotted
with each other, and must have come to some kind of private
understanding at last. Of course neither would mention it until the proper
moment, as if propriety had anything to do with love or affection or that
delicious feeling that made one's bones turn into blanc mange and one's
mind into butter. She must be hungry.
Rowanne stepped out of the bath and sat by the fire to dry her hair,
sipping cocoa and nibbling on a sweet roll. She felt warm and glowing,
and neither the fire nor the bath was responsible. At least one thing was
clear now: All those practice kisses were for naught. All the experiments
with young men, old men, practiced flirts, and green boys, all had been
doomed from the start. She was never going to find a kiss to match Carey
Delverson's, not that stolen moment of tenderness at Hillary
Worthington's ball, not the sudden rush of passion this morning in the
dirt. It was the man, not the kiss, who stirred her. Only Carey Delverson
could make her wonder whether she walked on water or drowned. Of
course. She knew that.
Rowanne smiled, a chocolate mustache on her lips, dreamily thinking of
the wonder of it all, the magic that St. Dillon wrought.
If he lived.
John's report the next day was distressing. John's condition was dismal.
The small man had a split lip and a blackened eye and a broken rib.
"John, are you all right? No, I can see you are not. Shall I call for the
doctor? John, what about His Grace& ?"
"Don't fatch yourself, Miss Wimberly, the duke never got into the
rowdy-dow. A fine set-to it was too, I can tell you. Why, I whopped that
vermin something fierce. He'll never hang around outside Lord St. Dillon's
house again, I swan."
"You mean there really was someone following his lordship and you
caught him? Good man!"
John scratched his head. "Well, it was more like he caught me. Wanted
to know what I was doing thereabouts. So one thing led to another, and
here I be, but the gallows-bait is in no better shape, my lady. Why, I
clobbered that one-legged son of a "
"One-legged?"
" Yes'm. Broke my rib with his wooden limb, he did, when I was down.
But I got up again, Miss Wimberly, you'd be that proud, and made
kindling out of the blasted stump. Old Cyclops picked up a tree branch but
I tipped him a leveler, I did."
"Cyclops?"
"And uglier nor an alley cat from Hell with that patch over one eye.
Don't worry, he won't be bothering His Grace none for many a day."
Nor shaving him, nor laying out his clothes nor looking after him like a
mother hen. Poor Rudd.
Poor John. His life was likely worth less than a brass farthing. "I think
you deserve a vacation, John, so you can recuperate, a paid vacation of
course. I know you have not seen your mother in the country since last
Christmas. Are you well enough to leave soon? Tonight?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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